


never mind, Love, it's not the end of the world

by Chaotic-Mikky-Bee (MyEmptyPiggyBank)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreams, First Kiss, Fix-It, Hearing Voices, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, References to Depression, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, it makes sense I promise, neither the author or the story is religious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyEmptyPiggyBank/pseuds/Chaotic-Mikky-Bee
Summary: "Don't worry about it. This is just a blink in the story.""Huh?" Richie turned around, away from the scene with the Losers happening in front of him. "Who said that?""A friend," the same voice said, simple and as if Richie was supposed to know that already. "You might even call me an old friend."Or...A story about regretting, forgetting, love... and horses.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	1. bent on conquest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"After this I looked, and there before me was a door standing open in heaven. And the voice I had first heard speaking to me like a trumpet said, “Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after this.”_  
>  \-- Revelations 4:1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info,
> 
> 8516 words, estimated reading time: 30 minutes.

"It's back," The person on the other end, Mike, had said. He sounded calm, tired. Richie could feel his heart speed up in his chest. "It's time to come home."

—

When Richie woke up that morning, he had done so with anxiety already pooling in the pit of his stomach. By the time he'd had his morning coffee and his (secret) cigarette, he'd already prepared himself for a bad day. 

Or, so he'd thought.

The phone call wasn't part of his preparation. It wasn't part of the _plan_. 

The whole thing felt like he'd carefully been dipping his toes in the chilly water at the end of the dock - minding his own business and calming his anxious nerves, just to have reality swoop in and push him in fully clothed and gasping for air. 

He was drowning. 

The call had come, and it pulled the rug out from under Richie's feet, and as he'd laid there writhing in pain, he'd had the rug thrown back over him. Richie didn't know what to do with himself or why he suddenly was so scared. But he knew, could feel it as deep as the terror had taken grip, that it wasn't Mike's fault - he'd said nothing that was threatening or even close to bringing on the kind of fear Richie was feeling. 

Along with the fear came memories, small fragments of a childhood long forgotten. Richie had always thought his childhood had been a lonely one, spent with video games played on single-player and staring at his bedroom ceiling trying to make time pass. When he'd woken up that morning, he'd had no memory of having friends during those years. Suddenly he felt like there had been people there. 

It was all still a bit fuzzy. 

After the call had ended - after he threw up and then collected himself enough to make his feet move him forward - he's started seeing something in the corner of his eye, something following him just outside his peripheral. The _something_ had been gone every time he's tried to look right towards it; of course it had, but he was sure he'd seen something. 

And then he's seen the ballon slowly floating over the audience as he'd gone on stage. 

He couldn't say why. He didn't know why the balloon had thrown him off so badly. As he had seen it drift over and across the room - he'd lost his place in the joke. His head had started to fill with voices he couldn't place, but they all felt so familiar. So close. They had been deafening in his ears, like standing right next to a speaker. 

The joke that he was in the middle of telling became jumbled on his tongue; the words he was trying to find didn't make sense. He'd been left with having to admit that he'd forgotten the punchline. Instead of laughing at the joke - the audience started laughing at him. 

So, to sum up Richie's day so far, he's gotten the most terrifying and unwelcome call of his life, tanked a live performance and bolted, and was now sitting in his own kitchen booking a one-way ticket to Derry, Maine. The hometown he'd sworn he'd never go back to, even if Richie never could remember why he felt like that. 

He wasn't that stoked to find out. 

Richie wanted to say that this was the worst day of his life, that the way he was feeling was completely new. 

Unfortunately, there was something in the back of his mind telling him _far from it, kid._ Wait until you've connected all the dots and see the full picture. 

The bright light of his laptop was stinging his eyes as he read the booking confirmation over and over. The flight left early the next morning, the earliest he could find out of Chicago. It was far enough away to overthink about it but close enough so that he wouldn't have time to change his mind and run the other way entirely. There was not enough time to panic about it. 

One of his hands we were firmly gripping the bottle of stupidly expensive vodka he'd bought just because he thought the bottle had looked cool. The clear liquid inside was almost gone now, the cap lying forgotten on the floor. 

Richie couldn't remember opening it, but he also didn't remember getting home. 

An overwhelming feeling was flowing through him like syrup. He felt something drip off his face before he felt that he had started to cry.

When he'd noticed it, the tears didn't stop, no matter how fast he wiped or cursed himself. The dam had been opened. 

_This is dumb,_ he thought. _This is so fucking stupid._ The voice in his head sounded far removed, nothing like him. He wondered if the voice could be kinder cause after the day he'd had, he needed kind. Or, what he really needed was something or someone _kinder._

With a sharp inhale, he got to his feet, the chair falling backward and hitting the tiled floor with a loud bang. His tired eyes read his own name one last time on the laptop screen, then he drags himself off to his bedroom. 

His fully clothed body hit the bed hard, his legs and feet hanging over the edge and his head resting just below the large pile of pillows he had no idea why he insisted on having. His rattling breath from a soft cry was what lulled him to sleep. 

His last wish was that he didn't have to wake up.

—

"Hey," a voice said; it felt tinny, like it was being spoken through a can on a string. 

"Hello?" Richie answered, looking around a place of pure white. It felt like a long-forgotten dream was just materializing around him. "Who's there?"

A wind blew past. Richie turned to get the wind on his back and out of his face - the scenery changed. Suddenly he was no longer in a white space, but he was… _home_. Richie was in Derry, at the quarry where they used to meet up. The sun was set high in the sky, and the air was fresh in a way he hadn't breathed in years. 

"Hey, Richie!"

He turned, standing face to face with a girl with short red hair that curled behind her ears and a white smile. Richie knew her too. He was sure of it. 

_Beverly Marsh,_ he thought with a smile. 

"Hi?" He felt confused, his voice cracking a little. Richie wasn't sure what was happening. It felt strange, not like in a dream, but he wasn't one to know when he was dreaming, Richie had heard of dream walking, but that wasn't something he's ever done himself. You had control when you were dream walking, right? He didn't feel in control at all. 

"Rich?" She said again, "Are you okay?"

Richie looked at her again. Something was off. Her eyes didn't meet him but looked more like they were looking past him. Looking straight Through him. 

"I'm okay. I just… I just zoned out." A new voice said from behind Richie, and he knew even without turning who it was. 

A 13-year-old Richie Tozier sat on the hard rocks by the water of the quarry, sulking. Long, thin legs stretched out in front of himself, the heels of his shoes almost touching the water. He looks small, in a way that Richie never remembered being. But he guessed he had to have been small, once. 

"Bill said they'd meet us here," Beverly said, walking over and sitting down on the rock next to Richie - _Young Richie._ "They should be here soon."

Young Richie nodded, his eyes still set on his shoes. Focusing on the hole starting to form in the canvas over his big toe. His clothes looked worn like they had been hand-me-downs from not only older siblings but maybe also an older cousin. 

"Do you know who's coming?" He asked, "Everyone?"

The hole grew as he flexed his toes, looking for any kind of distraction. 

"I don't know, think so," Beverly said. She leaned her shoulder towards young Richie, trying to cheer him up and out of his sudden daze. She then leaned forward and turned, so she and young Richie face to face. "Why do you ask?"

Richie swallowed as his younger self froze up at the question. He remembered all of this at the same rate he saw it. He could feel that this had happened to him but still not say what would happen next. Richie could feel himself sitting on the rocks. The ache and the bubbling anxiety in young Richie were very present in him too. 

"No reason."

"Okay," she leaned back again, connecting them by the shoulder and slowly rocking them in a soothing rhythm. It's obvious she knew somethings wrong, but she allows the silence to speak for itself. Beverly always knew, and she always knew exactly how to make whatever it was more tolerable. 

They sat like that for a few more minutes before they could hear voices quickly approaching - they soon saw all of their friends show up in a mess of bikes and shouts. It was chaos in a way that was very organized. 

Richie sees his younger self look up as he hears the boys approaching, a quick and loud voice talking loudly at Mike, sounding like an alarm in Richie's ears. Young Richie's eyes were so quickly drawn to it, and a small smile started to show on his face, at last, his shoulders squaring up and his back straightening. 

Richie can feel himself copying his younger self with a beat delay. 

He looked toward the boys and can't stop himself from smiling until it hurt. The face of Bill, Stan, and Mike brought joy to him and then… something else. 

_Eddie? Eddie Kaspbrak?_ He thought, kicking himself by the thought that he had forgotten Eddie. Eddie Spaghetti. 

"-It's easy, Mike. I'll show you some time-"The quick-fire voice says before stopping dead in his track as he sees young Richie staring at him. "Oh. Hi, Richie." 

"Hi, Eds," Richie said, smiling with teeth showing. "Took you long enough."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Eddie asked, walking over to Richie and sitting down next to him - so that young Richie is squeezed between him and Beverly. He pulls his fanny packs (both of them) to the side of his hip so he could pull his knees up to his chest more comfortably. He hugs them tight and turns to look at young Richie, waiting for an answer. 

"I mean, uh - " Young Richie started, sounding like he hadn't thought his teasing through. "It took you a long time to get here, but I guess that's a given when you're stuck with these short little chicken legs." He smiled, and it grew even more prominent when Eddie's face scrunches up in annoyance. 

"Fuck _you,_ Richie!" He said, pushing at young Richie's shoulder - and Richie can feel it like it was him being shoved, small hands pressing into his flesh. The heat collected at the contact point was followed by the feeling of a tight grip on his lungs. "I _know_ I'm fucking faster than you, much faster! Do you want to race to see what my short little chicken legs can do?"

Richie watches his younger self with a surprised smile. He can't imagine how he could forget this, how he forgot all of the _Losers Club,_ all of the losers. His losers. 

The grip on his lungs grew tighter, feeling like someone was wringing him out like a rag. The memory felt like a vice around his body, squeezing tighter and tighter the more he saw and remembered. He felt like he was about to burst. Remembering hurt. 

He swallowed, hoping to push the feeling down a bit longer. 

"Richie!" Eddie's shrill voice pulls Richie back into what was happening around him. He saw the children standing in a circle, young Richie and Eddie wrestling on the ground in the middle of the gathering as Stan, Bill, and Beverly loudly cheers them on, and Ben and Mike looks on as if they were waiting to be tagged in. "Richie, get the fuck off of me!" Eddie screamed, each word sprinkled with a bit of laughter. 

There were some more cheers and hurrahs from their friend, loud laughs as Eddie was being pushed down on his back into the ground by young Richie, Eddie's arms being held down over his head by young Richie. 

"Richie Tozier wins again!" Young Richie shouted and then bent down, so their faces were closer, almost too close. 

"Get off!" Eddie said, still laughing a little as he tried to looks mad.

"I am undefeated. I cannot lose, Eds!" Young Richie said. "I'm just that good."

"Get OFF!" Eddie shouted again, pulling at his wrists to get out of Richie's grip. As he seemed to realize that he would not get loose on his own, he stilled. Eddie was still for a few seconds before he smirked up at Richie, mischief screaming in his eyes. Young Richie seemed to catch it, but he's too late. Before he can react and pull back, Eddie has already stretched himself upward and forward as far as he could reach and bit down on young Richie's arm. 

He bit hard, not enough to break the skin but hard enough to have young Richie fall backward in the tall grass with a shriek. 

"Fuck, Eds, what are you? A dog?" Young Richie asked. "Who bites?" He rubbed his hand over the glowing red mark left on his skin. Adult Richie absently runs his fingers over the same spot on his own arm. He looks down in surprise. There are no marks, but he could have sworn he felt the bite. 

"I told you to get off me," Eddie said while he stands up, brushing off his shorts and shirt. He was trying to hide the smile on his face by looking down, but Richie caught it - both young and old. 

_There. There it was_ , Richie thought. He feels his heart being pulled to a stop by panic. A ribbon of realization and fear wrapping around and around until the muscle in his chest could not beat. He knew exactly what young Richie felt after seeing that hidden smile. This was the day the feeling in his young heart started making sense for him, the start. 

He looked on and saw his younger self bite his lip and look away, cheeks a subtle tint of scarlet. His smile is forced when he finally looks up. It's stiff and angular. His eyes were unmoving. 

Young Richie looks between his friends and Eddie, back and forth. They are all messing around again - Bev claiming loudly that she can lift them all without breaking a sweat and then showing off her upper body strength by lifting both Bill and Stan at the same time. Shouting a victory roar as he holds them a foot off the ground, both the boys laughing a squirming in her grip. 

Richie watched himself closely. This didn't feel like a dream; he was convinced he was walking around an actual memory. He didn't have any control. No one could see him. He was only there to observe, to refresh. 

The memories came to him bit by bit, beat by beat. He was feeling in a way he hadn't for a long time. He wanted to bottle it up. Richie was dazed, ecstatic. His heart was beating a bruise in his chest, blood rushing loudly in his ears. 

Richie couldn't say how long he just stood and watched the kids, but when they all sat round in a circle on rotten logs, he made his way closer. The kids had calmed down, their voices not carrying as far as before when they spoke. They talked about the future - what they wanted to do when they grew up, where they wanted to go to school, and how all of them wanted out of Derry as soon as they could. 

"I want to go to Florida," Mike said, "I don't know why. "He shook his head slightly, like what he was saying was ridiculous. Richie watched the young boy's face, how there was sadness in his eyes. Knowing sadness. 

Richie looked on and imagined this child all grown up, long after the rest of them had left. 

The thought of Mike alone made his bones ache. 

"I want to build things," Ben confessed after a short silence. "Like the clubhouse, I think I want to be a builder or an architect-" 

"That place is a deathtrap, Ben," Eddie quickly butted in. "Next things you build should at least follow basic safety codes like-"

"Shut up, Eddie," Beverly said, throwing a hand full of pulled, dead grass his way. "What more do you want to build, Ben?"

Ben turned in his seat, holding his hands in his lap. Richie looked on and was waiting for Ben to continue. He wanted to know more. He wanted some comfort from hearing them all talk. 

He wondered if Ben ever got to build things. He wondered if he's ever seen any of it or if he's walked through any of it. 

"Places that bring people together," Ben said after a thoughtful pause. 

"That's nice," Beverly said. "What about you, Stan? Any plans?"

Stan shrugged, "I don't know. Something practical, I guess."

"BOO! Stanley, that's so boring," young Richie said, his hands forming a cylinder like a megaphone to throw his voice louder, letting it carry a bit further. 

"And what do _you_ want to do then, Trashmouth?" Stan said, monotone. "Annoy people for a living? Be a menace to society?"

Young Richie laughed, "Something like that, yeah.." Richie watched himself and smiled, and at the same time, they said: 

"I want to be a comedian." 

Richie laughed again, "And you are, kid. You made it big." He said, his tone somber. He wondered when he became so jaded. His younger self seemed so excited about the possibility of the dream. But he just looked at it and felt tired. 

The kids laughed, asking a bit more about Richie's comedian plans, and then went back to talking about what the rest of them wanted to do after Derry. What they hoped would happen. Talking about anything that meant they'd get out of Derry some way or another, the desperation of them all not to be the one who gets stuck. 

As the other kept on talking, young Richie was watching Eddie closely. Eddie had his arms behind his back, leaning his weight on his left arm. Young Richie moved a bit closer, not enough to catch anyone's attention but enough so that his and Eddie's shoulders could now touch. They sat like that for a moment, a warm and comfortable heat filling young Richie - and through memory, it filled adult Richie too.

Young Richie also leaned back, using his arms to hold himself up. The two boys pressed together even closer, shoulder to wrist. 

Richie watches them, looking at the two boys with warmth and fondness as the memory of the moment became more and more vivid in his mind. The sun had set lower in the sky, the afternoon moving quickly into the evening, but the air was still warm and the breeze light.

Eddie suddenly straightened a bit, leaning away from Richie. Behind their backs, he pulls his hand in and out of a tight fist before there was a slight touch - a shock of electricity went through young Richie. Eddie's fingers graced young Richie's for less than a blink. They both kept their eyes forward, acting like there was absolutely nothing going on behind their backs, but neither of them could hide the blush that was blooming over their cheeks. Eddie's hand crept over young Richie's hand ever so slowly, his finger curling under young Richie's fingers and squeezing once very slightly. It was careful and unsure. 

The squeeze made young Richie's heart skip a beat and then twice as fast as it needed to catch up. It made young Richie turn and look at the boy beside him, and Eddie kept his eyes straight forward. A small smile on his lips, like a dare. Like a game. 

Young Richie breathed out hard, moving his eyes forward again, and took a second to collect himself before he leaned to the side, putting his weight on his other arm as he turned his hand around in Eddie's light grip - allowing them to hold onto each other better. Their palms met comfortably like puzzle pieces. The finger remained unlaced, but the touch was deliberate and could only mean one thing. It was more than enough. 

Both of them were blushing, bright red and pink like a bad sunburn moving from their ears to their shirts' collars. Richie could feel it too, warm and tingling just behind the surface. 

_Oh_. 

Was this it? Because he could suddenly see himself filled with lovesickness and looking at Eddie with nothing other than hearts in his eyes. The heavy feeling somehow made everything make sense. 

Richie roughly dragged his hand over his face, hard enough to make his eyes burn. 

'"Fuck…" He said lowly to no one but himself. He wanted to keep looking at his younger self and Eddie, drink the moment up. Live in that feeling. "What else have I fucking forgotten?" 

"Don't worry about it. This is just a blink in the story." 

"Huh?" Richie turned around, away from the scene with the Losers happening in front of him. "Who said that?"

"A friend," the same voice said, simple and as if Richie was supposed to know that already. "You might even call me an old friend." 

"Oh, right, _sorry_ menacing voice, I guess is coming from inside my head. I totally forgot about you," Richie said, waving his arms towards nothing. "I seem to do that with a lot of things, you know?" Richie sighed, all of a sudden tired beyond reason. 

"It's been a while. How are you?" He continues, the joke falling flat. "Do you happen to know what this is?"

He didn't know why he keeps talking. Something about the voice seemed off and yet so familiar. He couldn't keep the words from falling from his mouth. He shook his head to collect his rambling thoughts. This is the whole reason they called you Trashmouth dipshit. 

"Time to wake up, Richie." The voice said, deep and rumbling from every direction. The sky turning black as the ground beneath him opened up. "Don't forget to remember." 

—

Richie woke up with a jolt, halfway off of the bed, and his t-shirt twisted around his body like a straitjacket, the collar digging into his throat just under his adam's apple in a chokehold. He was sweating. His body felt frantic and chased. 

"One hell of a dream," He said, pressing his palms into his eyes before reaching over to his nightstand to put his glasses on - which, to his surprise, weren't there. Richie sighed, using his hands to guide himself and move over the sheets in his bed until he felt the smooth plastic below his many pillows. He really hated those pillows. 

He put the glasses on his face and allowed the world to come into focus. 

It was still dark outside. The phone was telling him it was 2 AM. The feeling of awful sleep and a slight, but heavy, hungover hit him like a stack of bricks thrown in a pillowcase. 

He didn't need to be at the airport for 3 more hours and 5 more hours until he _really_ needed to be at the airport. But he was wide awake now. The disembodied ghost voice had kind of ruined his urge to get back to sleep right away. 

So, Richie got out of bed and started his day, which began to feel like his last day on earth for some reason, but he had no time to think about that. No, that had to wait until he was at least in the air before he completely panics. 

He should probably pack anyway. 

—

Richie had packed and repacked his duffel bag two times in 30 minutes. He felt himself wanting to repack it again, so he decided to place the bag by the door and forget about it until he had to leave. 

After walking around aimlessly for what felt like forever, he thought he wanted to try to eat something. But the only thing he could find in his cupboards were an expired can of chicken soup, which Richie didn't think was possible, to be honest, and a loaf of moldy bread - neither of which he was especially hungry for at the moment. 

He picked up the moldy loaf and looked at the wet plastic, disgusted by the droplets and green dust inside the bag. How long had this been in his house? He couldn't' remember the last time he went grocery shipping or the last time he had made himself a sandwich. It made the bag of bread a bit alarming. 

After a moment of existential dread, he decides to throw the bread and can of soup in the trash, picking up the bag from the trashcan as he goes and continues around the rest of the house, looking for any trash he could get his hands on or anything that he can throw away. He was done with this in under 20 minutes. The walk to take the trash out took him less than a minute. He still had over 2 hours to kill. 

Time seemed to stand still; his house hadn't looked this clean and tidy in years. He even went and turned off the water and checked all the electrical sockets, like in some safety-obsessed haze. He must have walked the same circle around his house twenty times when he finally stopped after seeing himself in his hallway mirror. Still wearing the same clothes from yesterday — now missing the jacket.

He'd already turned off the water, so instead of turning it on again and making things easy for himself, he decided on a truck stop shower. Slathering his armpits with deodorant and brushing his teeth with a dry toothbrush and toothpaste that didn't seem to want to foam, he got himself ready for the day. The lighting in the bathroom was terrible, too yellow, and it washed him out. He had thought about getting better lightbulbs for the space, but it never really happened. Somehow he always stared at himself in the mirror for too long. His feature became twisted and grotesque after a while. But the twisted person he saw in the mirror still felt more like him than the person he saw on TV. 

Letting out a long sigh and letting his eyes fall up onto the ceiling. He collected himself and then walked over to his bedroom, pulling off his t-shirt and throwing it on the floor as he went. 

His bedroom was a mess, pillows and blankets tossed around the room from his stressful sleep; his duvet turned inside out in its cover. The light starting to pour in through the large window made the dust in the air look abundant, and it was making Richie itch. He quickly turned his eyes away from the mess and towards his closet. He dragged his hand over the hanging line of shirts and pants as a way to calm himself from the chaos behind him. It didn't really work. He felt no attachment to most of these clothes. 

Richie's closet had been carefully curated by some stylist his manager had thrown his way, a small woman who would say vanilla was too spicy for her taste. It was a desperate attempt to make Richie look more put together, and get him off the worst dressed lists for every event he ever went to. 

Nothing in his closet felt like him anymore, except for the very few pieces he had managed to hide away before the purge. A few band- and graphic tees, a few long- and short-sleeved loudly patterned shirts had quickly been tucked and hidden away like treasures when the stylist has started to throw everything she found unfitting out. 

Standing there looking at the monochrome grey and black clothes that hung nicely in his closet, he pulled out the first thing he saw. It didn't matter what he picked. Every outfit he chose would look the same on him. That was the whole point now. Everything he owned looked just fine on him. 

A pair of dark trousers with a little stretch and a dark t-shirt had to do. Richie's hand inattentively pulled at the hem of the shirt to make sure it fell just a bit below his belt. The fit was right. His finger ran over the seam over the shoulders and sleeves to feel how it laid on his shoulders. 

He looked at himself in the mirror and let out a loud groan. He looked like a monochromatic disaster, a Silicon Valley wannabe just getting their start in their parents' garage. It needed something more, just to make him look less… like an asshole from the Dotcom era, version 2. 

He reached into his closet again and pulled out a treasure, a shirt with some color. Richie put it on and let it fall to his sides before he buttoned it up, looking at himself in the mirror again. 

"Well, Rich. This may honestly be the best you can do," He said, clicking his tongue as he tried to straighten his back and square off his shoulders. He pulled his hand through his thinning hair, begging himself not to look too close to his wandering hairline. "You're getting fucking old, Richard. Shit."

Another look at the time; just another 20 minutes have passed. "Fuck!" Richie yelled, not caring how early it was or which of his neighbor he would wake up. 

There was no point in trying to distract himself, so he sat himself down on his couch - an angular L-shaped thing that's way too fancy for the space it stood in. Richie remembers standing in the store, looking at the different fabrics he could pick, fingers resting gingerly at the bright and bold among the sample fabrics. 

In the end, he got it in a slate grey or anthracite. He'd touched the plush and soft fabrics before deciding on laid-back linen, _Italian_ , the man in the store, had told him. _Safe_ , Richie had thought. 

He didn't mind it, but he felt like he'd liked it more if he'd chosen the petrol green or burnt orange. Maybe even a nice cherry red, leaning into the vulgarity and loudness of a colorful couch. 

But his home was boring, and he was too afraid to brighten it up in the way he wanted. He was so desperate to stand out and be loud. He just had no idea how to do that authentically. Richie had stared at art, scared that people would get the wrong idea if he hung it up in his home. He longed after decorations and furniture but decided against it after feeling like maybe it was a bit too much. 

The Tozier home was minimalistic, and the walls bare. Every single knick-knack Richie had collected over the years was stored in boxes and tucked away. Every bit of color was muted and earth-toned. It was all very safe. 

He laid down, sinking comfortably as he stared helplessly at his smooth white ceiling.

Richie's eyes caught the movement of a fly, watching it zig-zag across the matte surface of the ceiling. The faint buzzing was somewhat soothing, and before he knew it, his eyelids felt heavy, and he fell back to sleep. 

The sound of shoes on gravel woke Richie up. As he opened his eyes, he couldn't see anything but bright white. Wherever he tried to look, there was nothing to see; it was all like static in a vacuum. The space felt enormous while at the same time also claustrophobic. It felt like an in-between. 

And… Richie didn't feel alone. There was a solid presence all around him, moving behind his back. As he tried to find his ground, voices started to pour in from nowhere, loudly speaking over one another at incredible volumes, like shrieks in his ears. 

"-Richie? It's Richie-"

"I don't… uh."

"-Are you serious-"

"Who?"

"Eds?"

"Hello?" Richie called out, his hand covering his ears to keep the reverberating voices out. As he took a step forward, he started to fall for a second before his foot hit solid ground, like he'd missed a step while walking downstairs. Richie startled. He was back at the quarry. As he started to back away again out of surprise, the scene changed back into white nothingness. 

"Fucking…. What the hell," Richie said, finding his balance again. This felt more real than the last time. Last time had been fuzzy around the corners this… this was solid, even in the nothingness. 

He takes a grounding breath, trying to push down the pressure building in his stomach. It was expanding like a balloon in his torso as he finally took a step forward again. 

The quarry opened up in front of him again, fresh air that smelled like summer and the hot sun high on the sky above him. It felt like security in a familiar way Richie hadn't felt in ages. 

He looked out over the clear, blue water as a small breeze ripples the surface. 

"Hey, Richie!"

"Shit," Richie said, jumping to the side and almost falling over his own feet. It was the same as before. With the losers. With Eddie. And with Himself. 

He wanted to move closer this time, really live in it, and feel it all over and around. He took a step forward and-

Somewhere else, somewhere new.

Or old. 

The smell of melting ice cream and burnt coffee in a pot hit his senses. It was so overly sweet and so incredibly bitter at the same time that it hit his mind like a short-circuit. Harsh on all the senses. Richie looked around, searching for a familiar face - he felt uneasy and lost. 

Then he heard the bickering. 

On a park bench by the town center sat two boys with an ice cream cone each. They are arguing over something, leaning into each other's space, and making their voices as loud as they possibly could without downright screaming. The bench was placed with its back towards the street, facing the stage in the middle of the little grassed part that lived in the center square of downtown derry. The streets were busy. People walking in and out of the stores and walking past where the boys are sitting.

No one gave them much attention. 

"I already told you, I don't want to lick your cone."

Eddie leaned his torso away from young Richie, trying to get as far away as he could as young Richie waved his cone in front of Eddie's face. He tried to wave young Richie's hand away, but it was to no use. 

"Eds, you need to live a little - try it!" Richie saw himself, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old now, pushing an ice cream cone right under Eddie's nose. He let it stay there, waiting on Eddie to respond to his offer. 

"I don't want it. It smells foul," Eddie said, scrunching up his nose. "You know that only old people eat that, right?"

Young Richie huffed and pulled the ice cream back, "No, only sophisticated, _handsome_ people eat this, so I guess it's your loss," He gave the ice cream a lick before he reached it back to Eddie again. 

"Still time of you change your mind," Richie said. He looked at Eddie expectantly, shaking the cone a bit to try and tease Eddie into doing what he wanted or get some kind of reaction out of him.

As young Richie waved the cone some more, Eddie had had enough and hit the cone out of his face. It fell from young Richie's hand and down onto the pavement - ice cream scoop down, completely ruining it. 

They stared at the cone in disbelief, then Richie raised his hands over his head.

"Are you fucking serious, Kaspbrak!?" Young Richie said. "You owe me a new one that was artisanal. Expensive." Young Richie's tone was matter-of-factly like it was a given that Eddie would just get up and get him a new Ince cream cone without fighting him on it. 

"No fucking way!" Eddie said, "you continued to wave that raisin shit in my face! It's what you deserve, both for being an annoying person and for your bad taste!"

Eddie happily went on to lick his own cone, looking as if this was the best and only outcome for the situation. 

Richie looked at the two boys, _one scoop of real vanilla with the specks and a scoop of lemon sherbet in the cone;_ he thought affectionately, then shook his head. How did he remember an ice cream order that was 20 years old and wasn't even his own? He looked at the boys with nothing but fond and gleaming joy, something about these memories lifted his spirits. 

He was angry that he'd forgotten all of it. He didn't know how much he's missed all of this. 

"It's rum-raisin. Sophisticated, expensive, luxury." Young Richie says, counting each word on his fingers. " _Gourmet._ " He reached forward to grab Eddie's cone out of his hands. 

"Hey, stop!"

"You won't buy me a new one - at least let me have half of yours!" His grip faltered, and Eddie quickly pulled back, leaning his whole body over the armrest of the splintered wooden bench. 

"No, fuck off, Richie!" Eddie said, pulling his legs up, ready to kick. " _Fuck off. This_ is mine; you don't even like sherbet!" Eddie kicked his legs out once, hitting young Richie straight in the ribcage and making him let out a small pained sound as his hands stopped gripping for the ice cream cone and instead started grabbing his own chest. 

They froze, both of them. Eddie leaned further back and pulled his leg back, ready to kick again if he had to. At 15, Richie had just begun his growth spurt, and he'd had to endure many sweaty nights of aching growing pains deep in his bones. So at 15, he was still about the same size as Eddie, who had been slowly growing at a constant rate for years. 

Young Richie all but climbed on top of Eddie as the pain in his chest faded, and he continued to reach for the cone, Eddie stretching out to get it further and further away. Stretching his arms far above his own head just to keep it out of young Richies's hands. 

Then they locked eyes, both realizing at the same time what was happening and looking as if they were daring each other to do something. Daring the other to make something happen. 

The air filled with sparks that were tickling Richie's skin. He watched the two boys with fear in his heart. 

Young Richie relaxed a bit, his hands falling to each side of Eddie's waist. He looked at him, then as there was a loud crash behind them down the street that squashed the little courage he's collected mellowed out. The moment was gone and had only lasted for a breath. 

They both sat back up and looked away from each other. Red-faced and embarrassed. 

Richie sighed. He knew how disappointed he'd been with himself. He had started to remember everything in-between this memory and the one before in the quarry. It was 2 years of this, and things began to fall into place in Richie's head. 

There had now been a few years of pretending they both didn't steal glances and lingered when they touched. Both of them are too scared to take the next step of admitting anything to the other, make the next move. Whatever that meant when you were 13-14-15 years old. 

He remembered how that need and _to want more_ had quickly turned to shame. It had happened early. As soon as other kids had started to read Richie as different, he had wanted to change. The guilt had been so intense that even if he'd forgotten everything else about his life in Derry, the shame had remained unforgotten for 30 years. 

The boys sat side by side on the bench, looking in the opposite direction from each other. People had still not given them any attention, just minding their own business as they hurried down the street with their arms full. 

"I'll buy you a new one, Richie." Eddie suddenly said, breaking the silence. "Sorry for… Sorry."

Young Richie adjusted his glasses, smudging the glass with the sticky residue from the ice cream that had stuck to his fingers. "No, don't worry about it. I dropped it. I'll buy myself a new one later."

They still looked away from each other. Richie felt like he needed to reach out, either comfort or hold his younger self and tell him something, something that would make a difference. So he wouldn't become what Richie was today. Scared, in hiding. 

He wished he could tell the kid it would be okay. It didn't matter if it was a lie. He'd been lying to himself for over 30 years. What's telling himself another one going to do?

He could see Eddie fidgeting with his hands, pulling at the knuckles of his fingers and snapping at his own nails. The boy looked up slightly, catching a glance of young Richie before he looked away. He cleared his throat, sounding as he was making himself ready to say something important. 

"Hey, Richie.." Eddie said softly, "Do you, uhm… Do you like someone?" He was looking at his feet, kicking the gravel that had collected at the sidewalk edge underneath the bench. His shoelaces had come undone and were dragging as he rolled a stone under the ball of his foot. 

Richie felt his cheeks blush as young Richie did the same. 

"I…" young Richie said, his voice shaky. "You already know." Young Richie was nervously shaking his leg. As the words had left his lips, he knew it was now or never. 

"I mean, yes. Yes, by the way. I like someone. And you already know, I think. Who it is, I mean. I think you know who it is." Young Richie continued, his voice shaking and his pitch going all over the place. He carefully looked at Eddie as if he was ready to take the punishment for admitting it. 

But Richie was met with Eddie's smile. 

"Good, cause I like someone too, "Eddie said, giving his cone over to Richie before reaching down to tie his shoelaces. "You know who it is too, I think…" He continues, his voice a bit strained from leaning forward and compressing his chest. 

"You can have my cone if you want. I need to head home anyway. Ma would kill me if she saw me with ice cream." Eddie reached his hand forward like a handshake. It took young Richie by surprise, but he took it and felt Eddie give his hadn't a soft but firm squeeze before letting go. The touch made the tips of young Richie's ears turn pink, his mouth falling open. 

"Okay, thanks," Richie says, unmoving. "See you later, Spaghetti?"

Eddie smiles, "Yeah, see you later."

Eddie then ran off down the sidewalk and turned the corner. Soon he was out of view. When Richie was sure that Eddie was truly out of sight, he stood up and threw the ice cream away in a trashcan next to the bench. 

He never liked sherbet, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking long enough for him to eat it anyway. 

Richie watched his younger self, taking in the memories as they were forming. He felt bad for him, bad for himself. The kid in front of him deserved more than what he became.

He felt a tear roll down his cheek. He felt robbed of so much. He could have been another person if he'd remembered, Richie could have been better; he would have been better. 

His whole childhood, just taken. The anger in him made him feel sick. 

Remembering was starting to become horrible. Richie wished he's stayed unknowing. 

The more he remembered, the more he lost. 

"You two were always fighting, weren't you?" The voice from earlier rang out from the nothingness. It felt both close and far away at once. Richie almost fell over, the muscles in his legs giving out and his knees buckling under his weight like a fainting goat. As he tried to find his balance, he took a step to the side, and then he was… somewhere else. It was a place where the sun was covered in black, staring winds threatening to blow Richie off his feet. It all quiet down after a moment, the dark place becoming lighter.

A large meadow grew out from dark dirt in front and around him. Pink and delicate yellow flowers filled it out as far as his eyes could see. Trees grew along the edges in angular shapes - their limbs twisted and thick. The trees were covered in deep green, which looked like they had veins of gold running through. Richie didn't know this place. _That_ he was sure of that, this place didn't look real. It felt artificial in a way he had never encountered before. 

"But the first still held on for a while, right?" The voice asked. Richie didn't know where to look. After all the teleporting and falling through nothingness, he was too afraid to move out of his place. It was disorienting, and Richie was sure he'd lose the contents of his stomach before he's lost anything else. 

"Who? What are you talking about?" Richie asked, "Where are you? Who are you?"

"I already said, I'm an old friend." The voice said. "I'm here to help you."

"Huh, and people say that I don't have friends," Richie said. "But, here you are… n't." He sighed. "Can you at least tell me where to look? Or are you in my head?"

"I'm all over."

"Cool," Richie said, running his hands over his face in frustration. "Where am I, then?"

"You're nowhere."

"That's also very cool," Richie said. "Would like it a bit more if I was _somewhere_ , but this is fine." 

There was a calm over the meadow, like something welcoming him home. Even the smell felt like home, reminding him of the perfume his mother used to wear. The calm feeling was the only thing that was keeping Richie from losing it altogether. It was the best anti-anxiety pill he'd ever taken. 

He looked at his own feet for a second, wondered if he could take a step back and be back where he started. Back up just enough so that he'd wake up. 

It did not feel like a dream at all now, but he couldn't imagine what else it could be. 

He tried to think, one step forward - Quarry. Another step forward - the town center. A step to… to the side? He had stumbled, but that had to be it. Sucking in a breath, he lifts his foot and takes a step to the side, but the voice rang out again, and Richie's foot was as cemented to the dirt floor of the meadow. 

"You are here to watch," the voice said. It echoed into the vastness of nothing. The tone was stern, not just telling Richie but commanding him. Directing him to his task.

"Watch what?" Richie asked. "Like with the memories?" He felt the world stick to his tongue. Richie could feel it be wrong because the other scenes had been memories, but this? This was something else. This was new. 

The place was strange and felt outer-worldly—a between. 

The other scenes had felt so safe and familiar. This place breathed and exhaled calm, but in a way, Richie had never felt before. It felt fake, sugar-coated. 

"No."

He sighed; he thought he was annoying, but maybe this voice could teach him a thing or two. 

"Just watch, and tell me what you see."

"I see flowers and trees. And-"Richie turned his head, his eyes going big. He stopped himself, looking with crazed disbelief as a horse walked out from between the trees—a white horse with a long flowing mane. 

The horse bucked his head toward Richie like they were old friends before it continues, away from where Richie was standing. 

"-And there's a horse." He said as he watched to walk away. As the horse disappeared from his view, he felt overtaken by dread, placing itself firmly right beside the panic that had been in his chest for years. 

"One horse?" The voice asked.'

"Yeah, dude. One horse. A white one." Richie said. He reached out his arm and pointed towards the clearing where the horse had disappeared to. "Is this a memory? Because I don't remember this."

"No."

"Then what is it?" Richie could feel himself starting to spiral, his head filling with memories he didn't know was missing just as he was trying to process the things that were happening around him. The voice echoing loudly both inside and outside his head, and it was threatening to take down all his defenses and leave him bare. 

"It's a clock. It tells us the time." The voice said, "We're still on the first. There's still plenty of time."

"Time to do what?" Richie asked, a shadow starting to fill the sun above him. He watched as the light was engulfed by darkness and the flowers around him closed and died down. Darkness fell on everything. It felt larked that night. But Richie could somehow see just as clearly as if it was mid-day. 

Richie felt his breath catch. Was this fear? The calming effect of the meadow had gone, and Richie was left with pure, top-of-the-line terror. 

The voice let out a laugh, "Time to remember, and don't forget." It said. "And, time to wake up Richie. You don't want to miss your flight."

He woke up, breath catching in his throat and leaving him to cough violently for a moment. He looked at the time again. It had finally passed. It even looked like he was going to be fashionably late to the airport, which was good.

The less time he had to spend there, the better. His head felt like it was about to split open after that _dream._ Getting to derry was his only priority now. He had to do it for Mike and the rest of the losers. The inevitable breakdown could wait until later. He had the rest of his life to lose it. 

Right now, he had no time to let himself think. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!
> 
> A bit of backstory for this insanity that has consumed me for a year now - when I was 13 years old I hyper fixated on the Book of Revelations for almost 2 years, and I haven't been able to get that shit out of my dome since. It's been 15 years, my dudes. 
> 
> This is _very loosely_ inspired by the Book and Revelations, mostly by Book 6. I don't think of myself as a horse-g/rl but something about those horses just speaks to me... The men are just There. 
> 
> Anyway, here's a story about Richie having dream-conversations with a disembodied voice as he returns to Derry 2: Electric Boogaloo. The voice has a plan.  
> ________________________________________________
> 
> Will try to post more chapters soon, don't know when. It's mostly written out already I just have to read through and edit a bit.


	2. take peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken the love you had at first."_  
>  \--Revelations 2:4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info:
> 
> 7505 words, estimated reading time: 30 minutes.

The drive to the airport took longer than he wanted it to, and he was late _late_ by this point. It took almost all his will power to quiet the part of him that wanted to turn back home and miss his flight.

He pressed the scar in the palm of his hand into the steering wheel, the pressure to the raised fibers of it feeling almost soothing. Something real among in the fog.

It had all happened so quickly; the call, the flight, the memories that were coming back. Richie hadn’t told anyone he was leaving. He didn’t think he’d know how, or who he’d tell. 

He pulled out his phone and opened his contacts, as he scrolled he realized he could barely connect any of the names to the faces in his head. After thinking about it for too long he finally hit call on his only favorite contact.

“…Hello?” A voice said, right in the middle of a yawn.

“Hi, Sandy. It’s me.”

“Who?” She said like she’s just been pulled out of a dead sleep by his phone ringing. He should feel bad about that, but the part of him that stored that feeling seemed to be out of service. “It’s 5 AM”

Right. He hadn’t thought of that. “It’s Richie. Sorry, did I wake you?”

There was a long pause and Richie was starting to suspect that Sandy had fallen asleep again, then there was a long sigh and she started to speak again, “Yes, Richie. You woke me. It’s fucking 5 AM. What the hell are you doing? What do you want?”

“Shit, Sorry, I just… I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving town for a few days.”

“What?”

“I’m going home to… Uh. To fix something.”

“Home? What the fuck, are you going to fucking Maine, Richard?” Sandy asked, suddenly sounding way more awake than a second ago. “Why?”

Richie sighed, “I don’t know, Sandy. Something came up, it’s not important but I… Fuck, I have to leave for a bit.” He said. “I’ve parked my car at the airport and I need you to pick it up, or arrange for it to be picked up. Whatever. I don’t care. I couldn’t find the long time parking so I just pulled into the drop off zone.”

“You want me to get your car from the airport?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t - it’s in a drop off zone. It will get towed.” Richie said. “And honestly, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, so the car needs to get picked up anyway.”

“Richie-“

“You have the spare to my house, yeah? The extra car key is in the, the - fuck what do you call it? The small closet with the jackets?”

“Your coat closet?” Sandy asked. She was starting to sound worried, but there were also strong hints of annoyance and unhappiness in her voice. “Is this about the show?”

“What?” No.”

“You can fuck up a show without uprooting your whole life Richie, you cannot just get the fuck out of dodge after one bad show.”

Richie was quiet for a second. He didn’t want to argue. That’s not why he called. The car wasn’t why he called either, but it was easier to just go that route. Easier than explaining that he’s going home and he’s scared that he won’t be coming back. 

“Something came up.” He said slowly. “Can you get my car or not?”

Sandy sighed, “Fine, sure. I’ll pick up your stupid midlife-crisis car.”

“Thanks, sandy. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I can get us a table at-“

“Richie-“

“-that nice place with the croutons you like and - What?”

“I think we should have a talk when you get back.” She said, calmly. “This… arrangement we have going isn’t working anymore.”

Richie had walked almost halfway through security now, keeping his head low as to keep incognito and trying to keep his voice quiet and steady. “Ah. Okay. Yeah, fine. We can talk.” He said, feeling like he should ask her to rethink, beg her to reconsider.

“I just think it’s time,” She said. She didn’t say it, but Richie would never claim he was a good boyfriend to Sandy, he wouldn’t even say he was a good fake boyfriend to her. He was maybe the worst fake boyfriend ever because he didn’t see this coming at all. He thought it was going fine. She was the only steady person in his life that he actually liked. 

“Right.” He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself from saying something he’d regret later. “It’s my turn through security now, I’ll call you when I get back to Chicago. We can talk.”

“Fine. Have a nice trip home, Richie.”

“Thanks, Sandy. Lov- I mean… Bye, I’ll see you.”

“Bye, Richie.”

As he placed the phone in the plastic tray, along with his carry-on, he could feel his eyes stinging. Crying here was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t need this. Why was everything falling apart around him? Why did everything need to turn to shit at the same moment?

Fine, if Sandy wanted to break up it wouldn’t be such a big deal. They weren’t actually together, right? This wouldn’t change anything for Richie. They had spent 2 years pretending they were, and she deserved an out of she wanted one.

Two whole years was a long time to spend with Richie, after all.

“Sir, your shoes.”

“Sorry?”

“I need you to remove your shoes and place them in a tray, “ The TSA agent said calmly. “If you have anything in your pockets or if you are wearing a belt, that needs to be placed in a tray too.”

Richie stared at them, taking off his shoes and placing them in a light grey tray before pushing them through the machine. His head was swimming in jokes about how his shoes would be the last place where he’d hide a bomb, but he liked not being in prison so he kept them to himself.

“I’m good.” He said instead.

“You got any liquids with you?”

“No?”

“Are you asking me or telling me, sir?”

“I- I don’t have any liquids with me.”

The TSA agent smiled, “Okay sir, then you can walk on through the detector.”

Richie rushed though, he didn’t even care to look if the light turned green. No one was grabbing for him as he pulled his shoes back on so he guessed he was good. He took his bag and phone off the conveyor belt, he ran off without giving anything a second glance. If he forgot something it wouldn’t be a big deal, he could replace it. He felt too numb to care about his earthly belongings. The space between him and Derry was quickly closing, as was the space between him and the losers. The rush of seeing them all again was making the fear dull a bit.

He wondered if they were feeling as frazzled as him. Probably. He was remembering more and more, it was coming to him in fragments as well as the dreams. There was a tight grip around his heart going tighter and tighter as things in his life started to make more sense.

It made Richie linger on the thought of what could have been, if he was someone else and the memories he’d lost didn’t feel so heavy coming back.

\--

The airport terminal was packed, people walking around gift shops and loitering outside of duty-free stores. No one had recognized him yet, so maybe there was some luck left in him. If he could hang on to something good, he’d gladly take that.

Richie couldn’t stop thinking about his last trip to dreamland. He had slept more in the last day that he had in years, but he felt more exhausted than he even knew was possible. Maybe he was narcoleptic all of a sudden.

His first stop was a sports bar, he didn’t want to stick around so he just ordered 2 shots of straight vodka. Easy to throw down in a pinch, and he could always trust that that would shave down the edges of his panicked mind a bit. He pulled a bag out from a snack basket too, laying down some spare change he had in his wallet before bolting to the big screen in the middle of the terminal waiting for his flight to come up on the screen and tell him which gate he needed to rush off to. The more time he had to think the worse his anxious stomach became, so he just needed to keep moving.

When it was finally time for boarding, Richie made sure to be the first one in line. As soon as they said _first-class_ and _families with small children_ , he rushed past all the carriers and screaming children that were followed by tired parents. He did not give a shit about politeness and societal rules - he needed to get on that plane before his legs decided to carry him another direction. He felt like his body would run straight back home and hide in the smallest space he could fit into.

He power walked up to the cabin crew, quickly showed them his boarding pass, and continued down the creaky tunnel out to the plane. No time to stop and think about anything. It was like he was being chased by himself, like he needed to keep going so that the sane Richie Tozier couldn’t catch up and drag him back by the collar.

While on the plane, he had barely sat himself down in his little cubicle seat when his eyes started to flicker, and his head started to feel like it was about to roll off his shoulders. He was asleep before he could hear the captain introduce himself.

\--

The ground was cold on his back, rigid and rough as his hands tried to find something to hold on to. It was night, a dark sky lacking stars laid out above him. He was scared to move, knowing that if he did he would probably be thrown somewhere else and… and Richie was so tired. He just wanted to sleep, he didn’t want to dream.

Then the shuffling of feet on the asphalt, followed by a laugh.

“Eds, hey!”

The voice, his voice, piqued his interest. He bit down, breathing out a steady breathe through pursed lips as he tried to steady himself. His palms hit the asphalt, pushing him into a sitting position.

The Richie he saw was wearing a t-shirt with “I just want to be the girl you like” written in block letters over his chest. It was too short, barely falling over the waistband of his jeans and a sliver of skin was noticeable as he moved. He thought that he had to be around eighteen, the year he left Derry. He had grown in height since the last time he’d seen his younger self, as if he was being pulled like taffy. Just long, thin limbs and a narrow silhouette.

“Spaghetti, hurry up!” Young Richie said, trying to contain his laugh. “Someone is going to see us doing this, hurry up!” The soft neon of the gas station sign illuminated a giddy smile on his bespectacled face, drowning him out in a pink glow.

“Shut up, it’s fine,” Eddie said. He was holding a can of spray paint in his right hand, and using the left to gesture to young Riche to calm down. A swift chop through the air with a stiff, flat hand. “It’s 2 am, who the fuck do you think is going to walk around the corner?”

“I wouldn’t put it past your mom.”

“What?”

“She’s like… Obsessed with me. Haven’t you noticed?” young Richie said, “Maybe I’ll be your stepdad soon, Eds.”

“Fuck off, Rich…” Eddie sighed, sounded like he’s already heard it all, the mom jokes had grown dull and lost their edge. “Help me with this, I can’t-“

“Can’t reach?” young Richie walked up to Eddie, so close to that they stood chest to chest. Eddie came up to his nose and was noticeably annoyed with Richie for so deliberately showing off how much taller he was than Eddie. “Nothing to cry about, baby. Your tall knight in shining armor is on his way.” Young Richie ruffled Eddies' hair, using up all his concentration to make sure that his breath was steady.

“So, how’s the weather up there, dipshit?” Eddie spat out, “I’m tall _enough_ , anyway.”

“Sure you are, I like your height.” Young Richie said, his eyes going wide as he heard what he said. “I mean, uhm. Yeah. You’re tall enough, I see your legs reach all the way up now - did you have them lengthened?”

The bad line made Eddie roll his eyes, which made young Richie smile. Big, toothy, and bright.

Eddie laughed, pushing young Richie away. The places where Eddie’s palms had pressed against Richie's chest burned hot, the heat reaching all the way to his brain. Blowing every single fuse in his lovesick mind.

“Are you going to help me or what?”

“Yes, Sir!”

Young Richie took the can from Eddie, ignoring how his heart skipped a beat from the very short and insignificant touch of their fingers.

He reached his arms over his own head, writing out “ _Greeting and Salutations_ ” in big, thick letters along the side of the building. As he was writing the last few letters, and the paint fumes made his head lull a bit, he heard Eddie cough to get his attention.

“What?”

“How old is that shirt?”

Richie looked down, the shirts halfway up his torso like a crop top as he was reaching above his head. “Oh.” Young Richie said, looking down. “I don’t know, maybe a few years.”

He rushed the last couple letters and then reached the can over to Eddie again.

“You know that people usually throw out clothes they grow out of,” Eddie said dryly.

“Shut up, I like this shirt,” Richie said, dragging his hand under the text to emphasize the message.

“It’s too short on you,” Eddie said, raising an eyebrow as his eyes glanced down to the hem. “A t-shirt should fall around here-“Eddie's hand poked at young Richie's hip, showing him a line a few inches below the waistband of his jeans. “Like, a few inches below the belt.”

Young Richie swallowed, “Didn’t know you were such a fashionista, Eds.”

“Bev talks, don’t you listen to her?”

“Nah, she can’t critique this-“ young Richie motioned to himself, ill-fitting jeans and all. “It’s part of my charm.”

“You don’t have to change what you wear, just get clothes that fit you,” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest, the spray can firm in his grip. “You look nice when you make an effort.”

Young Richie tried to hide the blush that was blooming on his face, “Thanks, I guess I’ll think about it.”

Eddie shook the can of spray paint, leaning forward to the wall and writing “from the Losers Club” in neat, uniform letters. It was their last mark in this town. This was their last summer.

Adult Richie sat still on the ground, tense from the interaction happening in front of him. The end was still blurry, but he was remembering everything a bit faster this time than he had before. Instead of it happening beat for beat, he seemed to be a few steps ahead.

“What do you think?”

“It’s a bit bland, but it’s very you Eds.” Young Richie said, “I like it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I can come here when I miss you, after you go…” young Richie’s voice broke, he tried to cover it with a cough but it was obvious that Eddie had noticed. “When do you leave anyway?”

Eddie started to pull at his fingers nervously. “At the end of the month.”

Young Richie nodded, he felt tears building behind his eyes. The amount he would miss Eddie was infinite, no, it was infinite times ten. It could fill up whole valleys.

“You’ll call me, right?”

“Of course I will,” he sounded outraged by Eddie thinking that he wouldn’t.

“Good,” Richie said, keeping his head down. “I’m-“ He rubbed his hands over his face and then looked up at Eddie. “I just want you to know that I will really miss you, dude.”

“Stop.” Adult Richie said, “Stop talking. I don’t want to hear this.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” Eddie kicked the ground, scuffing the white rubber of his vans. “We can hang out every time we’re home at the same time, and I’ll call you.”

“Please stop.”

“It’s not like we’re never going to see each other again.”

Tears started to roll down adult Richie’s cheeks. When Eddie had left he’d been left alone in a town that had treated him like dirt his whole life. He was alone for 3 months before he left Derry too. Eddie called him once during those three months, and Richie had called Eddie once… The latter had been like a sucker punch.

“Can’t believe we’re finally getting out of this shit town, all of us,” Richie said, he thought about the rest of the losers, they had left one by one over the last month. Richie, Eddie, and Mike were the last 3 left. Eddie would leave soon too, and then Richie. Mike had decided to take a year to help out at the farm before he’d go to Florida like he’s wanted for years. In one year, the crooked graffiti at the run-down gas station would be the only thing left of the Losers Club in Derry.

Richie always knew that Eddie was much braver than he was, but he was still surprised every time Eddie took his hand. They didn’t talk about it, didn’t mention it in any way, holding hands was just a thing they did when they were alone. The familiar feeling of home in each other's palms. Richie often found himself wishing he was braver. Brave enough to hold all of Eddie and not just his hand, and not just in secret.

But he wasn’t brave.

Adult Richie didn’t want to see anymore. He had felt out of himself this whole time. Seen it all through his young self's eyes just as he had watched on from the side. He was feeling it all, living it all. And it was killing him. It made him want to forget again. Now that he knew how it ended, he wished that he had never started to remember. The hurt was not worth it, he was happier not knowing.

“Still on the first?”

Adult Richie fell on his back in frustration. Not this fucking voice again.

“First what?” He asked with a sigh, “I don’t know why I even ask, I know that you won’t answer.”

“The first,“ The voice said again, louder. “The two of you are still talking, so I think there’s still some time before the second takes hold.”

“Me and Eddie?”

“The Martyr and the one who Die.” The voice said.

Richie felt himself go cold, “Those mean the same thing.” He said. He looked up, hopeful that he might see where the voice was coming from. “Am I going to die?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is Eddie going to die?” He didn’t want to hear the answer. His mouth spilled the words too quickly, the question falling from his mouth like vomit.

“He might, he always does.” The voice said, “There’s still time.”

“Time for what?” Richie snapped. He had asked the same questions many times now, never getting anything close to an answer.

“To be faithful, to be victorious.”

“Faithful to what?”

“You decide where you lay your faith.” The voice said, the low rumbles shaking Richie's whole body as it laid on the ground. He looked up at the sky, cold air kissing his skin and the humming of old electrical wire filling his ears as he tried to make sense of the voice and its rumbles.

“Can I believe wrong?”

“As long as your belief is strong, and you stay faithful, there is no wrong thing to believe in.” The voice said, “Not this time.”

Richie was crying again. “Why are you talking to me?” He asked, begging for an answer. “Why won’t you just let me sleep…”

“You’re the one who hears it, so I talk to you.” The voice said, “There’s something special about you Richard Tozier.”

The sudden name drop felt like someone was shaking him like a rag doll. It speaking directly to him made it all so much worse. _Special_. He had been called that before and it was never a good thing.

“Time to move.”

The sky over Richie changed into soft white glazed paneling. The walls were covered with posters of movies and musicians, and one of the free walls had a bookshelf from floor to ceiling packed with all kinds of books and stacks of comics.

Richie was on his feet now, stood behind the door. This was somewhere he knew well. He had, after all, spent 18 years of his life there.

On the bed laid a sprawled out Eddie, limbs falling over the sides. Richie saw himself sit in the armchair by his window, fidgeting with the record player. He gave Eddie small glances, eyes darting to the hem of Eddie’s shirt that had hiked up as Eddie had jumped on the bed, exposing a small bit of his stomach and sharp hipbones.

“What band is this?” Eddie asked, head upside down.

“Echo and the Bunnymen.”

“And what’s the song called?”

“The Killing Moon.”

They sat queasily as the song played, Richie was nervous that Eddie would hear the lyrics too close. Young Richie’s eyes didn’t leave the turning record until Eddie suddenly stirred.

“I like it.” He said, sitting up on the bed now. He was looking at young Richie like an equation he was trying to solve, as a problem on paper in need of an answer. “Come here,”

“Aaaaand we’re done here,” Adult Richie said, taking a long step forward. He ended up… a long step away from where he had been behind the door. He took another step, still staying in Richie’s childhood bedroom, now a step further away from his starting point again. 

“Okay,” He looked up at the ceiling. “So, you decide when I get to leave, huh?” He tensed up in frustration, arms and hands shaking by his sides. He didn’t want to be here. He had caught up to this point, he remembered how this ended. he didn’t want to see it fall and crumble.

Young Richie stiffly got to his feet, taking the few steps over to his own bed and sitting down on the edge. He deliberately left a big space between them, his whole body was hot and buzzing, and his mind sounded like a mistreated engine.

“Rich, come here,” Eddie said, tapping the space beside him with his hand.

“I think I’m good right here,” young Richie ran his hand over his jeans, they were clammy and gross.

Eddie glared at him, kicking young Richie’s side lightly with his foot. “Why?”

“You leave tomorrow.”

“And?” Eddie asked. He looked as if he had a hard time connecting the two. “Are you mad at me for leaving?”

 _Yes_. Adult Richie thought. _I was angry with you for leaving me behind_.

“You know-” Eddie scooted over, turning his legs over the side of the bed and placing himself next to Richie.

”-You being mad at me won’t stop me from having to leave.” Adult Richie said in unison with Eddie. This memory went from non-existent, to a bruise, to an open wound in just a moment.

“I know.” Young Richie sounded defeated like he was going to cry. “I miss you already, and you’re right-“

Eddie had placed his hand flat on Richie’s cheek, his fingers following the cut of his jaw. The tingling sensation of someone else’s touch ran through young Richie's body like he’d touched a live wire.

Eddie smiled, pulling his hand back. “I’m right here.”

Adult Richie was walking back and forth in the room. The voice hadn’t answered his call. He wondered if a _Beam Me Up, Scotty_ would work, but he doubted that the voice had any humor. He didn’t need a recap, he didn’t need to feel like his chest was being split open and his heart being ripped up. It was raw and confusing, anger from knowing what happens next and ecstatic delight for what happens _now_.

“Can you do that again?” Young Richie asked, touching his own cheek over the spot where Eddie’s hand had been.

“Don’t ask him to do that,” Adult Richie said, firmly. “We missed our moment, this isn’t _it_.” He stood helplessly by the side of the two boys, feeling trapped and devastated. He wanted this memory wiped, and everything with Eddie after it.

“Touch your cheek?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah… Do that again.”

Eddie stroked Richie’s cheek again, his eyes darting between Richie’s lips and eyes. He lets his hand continue, resting in on the back of Richie’s neck tangled in dark curls and waves.

There was a second when young Richie thought his brain shut off, something trumpeting loudly in his ears and his skin buzzing. Then Eddie started to lean in, connecting their lips in a smooth, easy movement.

The kiss was quick at first. A small peck and then the two boys leaned back from each other. Young Richie looked shocked, his fingers gracing his own lips out of reflex.

“Sorry, did I… Was this not okay?” Eddie asked. His voice sounded small and fragile. Young Richie's stomach turned from looking at his face, looking like a child who was unsure if they had done something wrong.

Adult Richie was also letting his fingers run over his own lips. “Do you have anything else to show me?” He called out, “I would literally take anything else.”

There was no answer.

“It's okay, it’s more than okay,” Young Richie said, a smile taking up most of his face. “Fuck, Eds… If I’d known you just needed some good music and a sob story I’d have bagged you years ago.”

Eddie laughed, “Now or never, right?”

They were holding hands, fingers interlaced. Eddie leaned forward again, kissing with more purpose this time. Adult Richie had to look away, it hurt seeing it. Feeling it hurt even more.

The day would end with Richie over the moon, feeling like he could fight the creator themself _and win_. Eddie would have gone home, and he'd be left in his room with the ghost of what just happened fresh in his mind.

Tomorrow would be the last time he ever saw Eddie, they didn’t know that yet but it would be. Eddie would call a few days later, and they’d talk for 3 hours. The heart in Richie’s chest beating loudly the whole time, his fingers working on the hem of his already ratty t-shirt until the hem frayed raw.

After that, there’s be nothing for 3 weeks. Richie knew that college would be different, and maybe Eddie would just be stressed getting settled. But after 3 weeks of no contact, Richie took a deep breath and called Eddie himself.

Eddie would act like he didn’t know who Richie was, act as they’d never been friends. And after the quick call ended, Richie would lay in his bed and cry himself dry. He would lay in the bed where it all happened, knowing it happened, with the voice of Eddie in his head echoing the word “ _who_?”.

Richie left home a few weeks after that, and somewhere around there he… He… shit. A few weeks after that he had left Derry, and he had forgotten it all.

Richie bit down, his jaw tensing uncomfortably.

“Hey, Mr. Mystery Voice up in the Sky. Can I ask you a question before I go insane, please and thank you?” Richie said, still looking away from the scene that was happening behind him. “I - Uh - Fuck, I need to ask you a question. _Please_.” He tried again, the walls around him suddenly disappearing into nothing. A field opening up in front of him, the meadow blooming with purple flowers in different tones. He fell onto his knees and allowed himself to openly weep.

“What do you need answered?” The voice asked.

Richie sniffled, wiping the tears from his face. “Is that why you showed me it all?” He asked, his voice shaker and weak. “That we forgot when we left home?”

There was a long pause, making Richie wonder if it was even there.

“Yes.” The voice said.

Richie nodded, tears still rolling down his cheeks. “Why can’t I remember why I’m afraid?” He asked after a moment, the fear was still steady in his chest, holding tightly around his lungs like a parasite that threatened to squeeze too tight.

“You will.”

“Why can’t I now?” He asked again.

“What do you see?”

“What?”

“What do you see around you?”

Richie turned his head up, looking around at the open space. He could still see a white horse in the distance. He looked at the clearing where the white one had passed through the trees and suddenly, and unexpectedly, saw another horse. This one was darker, a brownish-red.

“It’s the same, but another horse just walked out. It’s uh, red? I guess.”

“The second has arrived, time is picking up.” The voice said, a breeze picking up.

“Okay,” Richie started, he shakingly got to his feet again. He felt so tired. “Can you tell me more about what I should believe in?”

Richie rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I have to tell you, I am not much of a believer, I thought about joining the LA alien-cult thing for a bit as a joke but those… uh, those guys get kind of intense.”

“I can’t tell you what to believe, Richie.” The voice said solemnly.

“I want to do it right,” Richie pleads. “You said Eddie might die, I want to make sure he lives. I want to do it right, I want to make sure my belief works.” The words were coming out alter that Richie felt, flowing out easily and put together - like someone else was saying them.

“If you are faithful to your belief it will work.”

“You’re not giving me anything, you know that right?” Richie said. He was frustrated, tears that he couldn’t stop from coming still rolling down his cheeks. “You’ve told me I might die, that Eddie might die - but you can’t tell me how to stop it?”

Richie’s hand went into tight fists, his fingers cracking as he clenched hard. “I’m trying to listen to you, but you’re just giving me riddles and vague bullshit.”

_Bam._

He was laying on the floor, limbs out and his chest aching. The white space surrounding him didn’t feel as clinical this time, he was starting to get used to the show. This Non-Dream-Dream. Richie felt how his hand was shaking a bit. The bones in his finger giving off a bit of a shudder in a way he’s never experienced before, like he was wired up.

“Here we go again I guess,” He sighed, “Hey, Mr. No one. Stop hiding and get right to it, how do you want to hurt me today… What kind of shit memory do you have left to show me.”

“Is that what you think I am? The bearer of bad news?” The voice asked.

“Yeah well,” Richie shrugged as he finally sat up from the floor. “The feeling you’ve been giving me have been… how do you say… _bad_.”

“I’m sorry.”

Richie laughed, shaking his head. “I liked it better when I didn’t know why I had this fucking un-fillable hole in my chest.” Richie let out a small groan. “I liked it better when I didn’t know that space was for a long lost crush, and that the space was Eddie shaped.”

“Poetic.”

“Are you serious? You’re going to ruin my life and then roast me?” Richie couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping him. “Fuck _you_ , dude.”

There was a feeling of something moving around him. Like a ghost or some sort of electricity. Energy. Richie could almost feel the presence of someone sitting down on the floor next to him as the floor turned from stark white to worn pine flooring with a spotty-at-best stain.

 _No,_ thought Richie. They were back in his childhood bedroom. The buzzing from a Nintendo console could be heard, as well as the ambiance of the night through an open window.

In said windows sat young Richie, clutching the home phone to his chest.

Richie suddenly felt cold. The room was being packed up, the floor was filled with cardboard boxes with different chicken scratches for what they contained. And young Richie looked sad.

“Is this the day I left?”

“Yes,” The voice said.

“I don’t… I don’t remember calling someone,” Richie said. “I remember packing, and-“

“Richard?”

The door opened after a quick knock, without any pause to see if it was okay to come in. A woman dressed in comfy jeans and a patterned knitted sweater came into the room.

“Hi, mom… What’s shaking?” Young Richie said, setting the phone down on the window sill.

“Did you reach Eddie?”

Young Richie shook his head, “Haven’t tried yet… I don’t want to bother him if he’s busy-“

“You’re not bothering him, honey,” his mom said like the thought was ridiculous. “He’ll love hearing from you.”

Richie looked at himself. There was uncertainty on his face, a kind of shyness and lack of confidence that was very rare on him now.

“I’ll set the phone back downstairs when I’m done, mom,” young Richie said. He tried to smile, but the effort fell flat. Something was off.

“Take your time,” She said as she turned her heel and made her way back out of the room. She closed the door after herself. After a short pause, Richie heard her move down the stairs, and after that his eyes turned to his younger self again.

He had started to dial a number, Richie guessed it was Eddie number.

_I’m packing up, I’m leaving, I’m-._

A chill traveled over his spine and settled at the base of his neck.

“We need to leave,” Richie said.

“We have to stay.” The voice countered.

“I don’t want to see this,” Richie said, the walls felt like they were closing it. The ceiling was about to collapse in on him and crush him. He needed to leave, he needed to leave as fast as he could and get as far away as he can.

“This is important.”

“It’s the worst day of my life.”

“ _Important_.”

“ _Please,_ don’t make me relive this _.”_

Richie looked towards the window again. Young Richie was looking hopeful now, biting his lip with enough force to leave a deep mark of his two buckteeth.

There was a click and then the muffled sound of a tinny voice that Richie couldn’t make out. But he could hear every word in his own head like a memory. It was a memory. This was the last time Richie and Eddie spoke,

“ _Eddie speaking,”_

 _“_ Eds! I’m so happy I got a hold of you!” Young Richie said. His body language made a complete switch - he started to move. His face was lit up by a smile.

“ _Who is this?”_

“Hardee-har Eds, It’s Richie;” he continued, still smiling. “You were supposed to call me last week but I guess it’s stressful to get moved in-“

“ _Who?”_

 _“_ It’s- Uh. Sorry?”

“ _I don’t think I know a Richie. Are you sure you have the right number? This is Edward Kaspbrak in New York.”_

 _“_ I- Eds? It’s not funny, can we just talk? I missed you, I miss you.” Young Richie said. He was stilling again, turning inwards as the tinny voice in his ear continued with their explanation.

_“Oh, ehm. Sorry, dude, but I think you have the wrong number.”_

_Don’t fucking say it, you fucking moron,_ Richie thought. The world around him was on fire, his chest constricting. There was anger directed towards the voice in the other end of the phone, grief for himself as he felt how the shock set into him. Reality was a pair of strong hands squeezing him with the force of the universe.

“Eds, please. I lo-“

The line went dead. Young Richie stared at the phone in his hand as tears started to roll down his cheeks.

Richie knew now that it wasn’t Eddie’s fault, not really, because there was magic at play here. Derry was a special place, number one Capitol of child murder and disappearances - but it was also a place where you lived _and_ died. The fact that all the losers made it out, except for Mike, was unheard of.

No one really left Derry, Derry gripped you tight.

“Can we please leave?” Richie asked, watching his younger self cry in complete silence. A cry that was impossible to stop and was just based on the hurt deep in ones being. Effortless crying.

Richie wanted to tell himself that the pain will last for 2 days, as soon as he crosses the town sign - he will not ever remember Eddie Kaspbrak’s name - or any of the Losers’.

He’ll forget the names, but the hurt of this and the gaps in his mind will continue. Richie will live on feeling like he’s incomplete and that he’s making all the wrong choices, saying the wrong things. Missing someone that could tell him when his mouth is running too fast and saying too much. He will be stuck in a cycle of his own mistakes.

“Are you feeling it?” The voice asked.

Richie shook his head, “What am I supposed to feel? Cause I feel like shit, dude. I feel like it’s time for me to peace the fuck out.”

“Does it hurt as bad knowing that this was made for you?”

“Riddle me this, what the fuck are you talking about?” Richie asked, kicking his foot into the wall. It made no sound, but the pain in Richie’s foot felt very real.

“He didn’t forget you on purpose, it was made like that:” the voice said. The sound of it was from his side, starting to take form like there was a person next to him talking. “The feeling you have now, I need you to remember it,”

“I feel like hell dude, I told you I didn’t want to go here.” Richie leaned back against the wall, letting himself slowly slide down so he was sitting on the floor again. “What do you even want from me?”

“I’m here to help, you are very _Special_ Richie Tozier.” The voice said, “You have a choice to make, but before you do, you need to remember the path.”

“So, you’re like my guide or some shit? You’re supposed to make sure that I do the right thing?” Richie asked. “Cause, I’m going to be real with you right now - Neither listening to others nor doing the right thing are things I’m particularly good at.”

“I’m aware.”

Richie couldn’t help but let a laugh slip out, the voice was a pain in his behind but it was growing on him. In a way.

“Well, I guess we’re good then.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked out over the meadow. It was all so peaceful, so calm. It felt plastic.

“Are you remembering?” The voice asked, sounding closer than it had before. It felt familiar.

“It was hard not to when you continued to throw me into my lost memories…” Richie looked up at the sky, watching the clouds lazily move across the sky. “Some of it was very traumatic, as you may remember from seeing two versions of me crying. But that’s one thing I’m good at. Locking the sad shit away and ignoring it.”

“That was inevitable,” the voice said. “I have seen every outcome, every possible way this can end, and I didn’t like any of them.”

“Reassuring.”

“I needed you to know what’s at stake.” The voice said, “You need to know who is at stake.”

Richie bit down. “So, Eddie dies in the end?”

“Eddie Kaspbrak dies in many ends, he is the one who dies.” The voice said, almost in a tired sigh. “And I didn’t like that outcome.”

He didn’t know when he had ended up on the grass, he didn’t remember sitting down, but he was suddenly sitting with his legs stretched out in front of himself. His shoulders slumped forward, eyes down on the ground.

 _Eddie is the one who dies._

They hadn’t seen each other in 20 years. 

Richie wondered if Eddie remembered him now that the floodgates of memories had opened. If the call had brought it all up for Eddie, just as it had for Richie.

“If you’ve seen every outcome, and you hated everyone, why are you even talking to me?” Richie asked.

“I changed something that was constant.” The voice said, “And it’s all become much clearer now, and I need it to be clear for you too.”

Richie nodded, “And what do you see?”

“I see a group of friends walking into their hometown, and I see the same group of friends walking out.” The voice said. It was suddenly loud in Richie’s head again, like thunder.

“All of them alive?”

“I see the same friends walking in and walking out, alive.”’

Richie closed his eyes, _alive._ He still felt terrified by _something_ he was running towards. He hadn’t set foot in Derry in 20 years, much to his parents' annoyance, just because the thought of going back made his stomach turn.

He had thought it was just what came with the territory of being from a small town and being like Richie - going back home would never be an option. Once out, you stay out.

Now he knew that it was something more, he just needed to find the crease in his brain that held the right information.

Richie sighed, breathed out hard through his mouth and he tried to collect himself. The voice seemed to know a lot…

“Tell me what I need to do.”

The voice laughed, “Time to wake up.”

“YOU BITC-“

Richie startled awake, jumping in his seat. He is held down by his seat belt, looking around fully crazed as he tries to get loose or for his feet to get a steady footing.

“Sir, sir, are you ok?” A flight attendant asks him, almost running down the aisle. He bends down and kneels next to Richie’s seat. Richie can’t help but stare, he looks like plastic. His completely still, and well-shaped, eyebrows distract Richie enough to come back to reality.

“I’m fine, I just, uh... I had a dream. Sorry.” He felt embarrassed, people were staring at him. He could hear them whispering about him and talking in hushed, but not that hushed, voices. He wondered how many of them recognized him, and how many just thought he was a crazy man.

Geez, was he always this self-obsessed?

“Are you sure, sir?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Richie said, hitting his head back against his headrest. He wanted to walk over to the escape door and pull it open, allowing himself to be sucked out into freefall. He wondered for a second if he would be strong enough to do that, the pressure outside must be ridiculous but he felt determined. If desperate moms could lift cars off their children why couldn’t he open the escape hatch so that he could escape an awkward situation and hit the earth like a pancake? 

The attendant nodded, “Okay, sir. We’ll be right here if you need anything. Thank you for flying with us today”

“Yeah, thank you.” Richie pressed the button for the partition and let the screen cut the attendant off. As he sat in his small cubicle-chair situation he breathed out hard. He was terrified, not only from the dream and the voice. He was terrified of going home, of remembering more stuff. Of remembering why he was so scared of going home. That was the main thing now.

The voice was still sounding in his head, talk of death and sacrifice, and belief. About martyrdom, and… And about the one who dies. Richie didn’t want to think about it.

He heard the pilot over the speakers talking about the starting the decline, he had slept the whole flight. Finally, something was coming up _Richie_.

As the plane prepared for landing the fear rose even more in Richie, he looked at his own hand, at a scar he didn’t remember getting, and closed his eyes.

He had a dinner to attend. Something big was waiting for him.


	3. the oil and wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear it and take to heart what is written in it, because the time is near."_  
>  \--Revelations 1:3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info:
> 
> 5333 words, estimated reading time: 20 minutes.
> 
> \-- CW: Suicidal ideation, vague mentions of depression/suicide.  
> (tags updated)  
> \-- Dialogue is taken in large parts from the movie in this chapter, as I wanted to use that as a building block. "Regular" chapters after this.

When the plane finally touched the ground, Richie had already released his seat belt and was on his feet getting his duffel bag out of the overhead storage. The flight crew quickly asked him to sit down again and wait for the light to turn off, but their voices were just chatter in his ears. He needed to get off the plane as fast as he could. Sitting down was making him nervous, the lump in his throat making it hard to breathe. 

As the light finally turned off, Richie rushed down the corridor. If there happened to be some kind of TMZ video after this of his tackling someone on the flight crew to get off the plane faster, he would deny it was him. Richie was sure he could create some doubt. No one would expect him to be in Maine; he could work with that. 

He was right in the middle of fight or flight; his feet wanted to just go where he was supposed to while his brain was screaming at him to turn _around._ Go back, _leave while you still can_! He blamed it all on the dreams. The fear he'd felt after the call still didn't make sense. 

Maybe it was just nerves, nerves after a long tour. 

He had promised Mike he'd be here, and that was what he was going to go. He was usually very good at ignoring advice, so ignoring his own instincts shouldn't be that hard. 

Richie walked into the airports' car rental and slammed his hands down on the desk. 

"I need a car."

The woman standing behind the desk looked at him with her eyebrows raised, "Well… you come to the right… place?" She said, unsure. "What kind of car are you looking for, sir?"

_You need to go, go, go._

_"_ I guess I want something fast."

"Do you have a color preference?" She asked, looking up at him with a smile. She looked kind and calm; her voice was soothing and clear—a perfect choice for the front desk. 

"No."

The woman, _Irene_ Richie read on her tag, started typing into her computer. She looked bored out of her mind. Richie thought she couldn't be more than 20, not old enough to actually rent a car herself. 

"We have a Ford Mustang GT in red. Does that work?"

Richie didn't really know what that meant, he knew the words separately, but together they didn't spark anything in his head" Yeah, that's fine."

The woman typed some more, then reached her hand forward. Richie didn't know what that meant or what she wanted, so he reached forward and shook it. 

"No, Uh, can I have your driver's license please?" The woman said, blushing slightly. 

"Right, sorry, "he said, feeling like an idiot. He reached into his wallet and placed his license on the counter, pushing it forward with shaking fingers. Irene quickly took it and started typing in his information on the computer before putting it on a scanner and then swiftly handing it back to Richie with a smile. 

"Do you want the insurance?" She asked, "We recommend that you get the insurance."

"No, I'm good." 

She nodded, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. "How many days?"

He tapped his fingers on the counter, he didn't have a return ticket back to Chicago, and he honestly wasn't sure what kind of trip this was. His head was a mess, part of him telling him that this was just a reunion between an old friend, another was drowning him in fear. The dreams he'd been having weren't helping either. 

"Can I return it earlier than expected if something would come up?"

"Of course, earlier is always fine," Irene said. 

"I'll take it for fourteen days." There was absolutely no way he'd spend more than 2 weeks in Maine. He'd return it before then. He'd probably be out of here by tomorrow. 

"Okay, Mr. Tozier, your can will be out front in 5 minutes - I need you to sign a few documents before you go."

He was given a stack of papers and, against his better judgment, started to sign on every dotted and marked line. If Irene now owned his soul or had exclusive access to his bank account, so be it. She worked hard; she probably deserved it. He'd respect the hustle. 

The ink in the pen was sluggish, almost dry. His signatures came out faint on some lines. Irene was watching him and didn't say anything about it, so it must have been fine. 

As he handed her the papers, he was given a pair of keys. 

"The car will be right with you out front, have a continued nice day."

"Thank you," Richie said. He didn't stop until he was in the car. Before he turned the ignition, he pressed his palms into his closed eyes with force. His vision went white for a moment, but it made everything feel sort of better.

—

After around half the drive, he had started to become tired and felt dizzy; it had passed as soon as it had come. He'd stopped twice to throw up by the side of the road and then one more time to just have a short little scream into the Maine wilderness. He soldiered on, anyway. 

He'd arrived at a dark, relatively empty parking lot and sat there. He looked out toward the restaurant that he'd agreed to be at, the bright neon light around the entrance leaving a bad taste in his mouth. He couldn't say how long he'd been sat in his car when he was a redheaded woman walking towards the restaurant entrance. He watched him, recognition just on the tip of his tongue. 

_Beverly_ , he thought with a smile. 

A man was approaching her; Richie watched from the comfortable safety of his car. He couldn't hear them, but Beverly suddenly smiled and opened her arms to embrace the man in a hug. Richie took that as his cue to get out there as well. 

As he approached the two people hugging, he noticed dark bruises on Beverly's wrists. The stark blue against pale, freckled skin. His jaw went tense with both past anger and something that felt newer, overlapping and forming an urge to protect in his chest. 

"You two look amazing," Richie said, tucking his hands deep into his own pocket and hunching his shoulders forward. "What the _fuck_ happened to me?" He smiled and took a step forward, going to the man at first. He gave out calming energy, and Richie really needed that. "It's Richie, hi."

"Yeah, it's Ben," the man said as he hugged Richie, a burst of fondness exploding in Richie's chest. Holy shit, _Ben Hanscom?_

Richie smiled again, patting Ben on the should der before turning to Beverly, "Hi!" He said with a large smile on his face. 

"Hey," Beverly said, going in to hug Riche also. 

Richie took a step back, looking at the two people in front of him like he couldn't believe they were there. He noticed the small glance that Ben gave Beverly, a lingering look like he wasn't to ask something. 

"Did you get here together, or…?" Richie asked, trying to piece it together. He felt terrible for having forgotten all of them. He needed to catch up quickly. 

Beverly looked at Ben again, eyebrows raised. "No, I just got here from New York-"

"Staten Island," Ben said, smiling flatly. 

Richie nodded, feeling like this was going in the wrong direction. He took both Ben and Beverly by the arm and started to guide them into the doors. 

As the hostess was walking them into the room, Richie noted 3 things:

1\. The room had a gong. 

2\. The walls were had aquariums in them (which greatly entertained Richie)

3\. There were three people already here, engaging in loud small talk. 

His eyes quickly moved to the back of the man with the tidy haircut, and ill-fitting clothes, something about him felt so familiar that it made his heart drop to the floor. 

_Oh._

Before he could stop himself, he was already hitting the gong—the need to be as annoying as possible overtaking him so that he didn't have to think. 

"This meeting of the losers club has officially begun," He said, as the gong rang out and everyone's eyes turned to him. A warm blush moved up his neck as the man he'd been watching turned towards him and gave him a goofy smile. 

"Look at these guys," he said, still smiling. 

Richie could still feel how that smile felt under his fingers, how the dip of the dimples felt. The sight made him feel like he'd been without a part of himself like he'd been starving and not known about it until he had seen what he was missing, what he'd been craving. Like he'd been starving for so long that he'd gotten used to the dull ache, the feeling mellowing out. 

So, the feeling was still there.

He tore his eyes from the man and thought, _And look at you, Eddie Kaspbrak. Just as beautiful as ever._

_—_

They were catching up quickly. All of them had fallen back into step with each other like no time had passed at all. 

Richie quickly learned that Ben had become an architect, and he'd done well for himself. He had even been able to move his mom into a new house right next to his own. It was sweet, but it didn't stop Richie from calling him a mama's boy and then doubling back as Ben took it as a compliment. 

Bill had written some books; Richie had even read some of them. There had been movies, too, but Richie had never seen them. Bill hinted that people didn't like his endings, and the reviews were almost always bad. 

Richie held on to the bad reviews more than the massive success. 

He learned that Beverly had also made it big, owning a design company with her husband. He'd heard about the brand, the stylist that had curated his new closet had talked about the Marsh+Rogan brand at length. He was unsure if he had any of the clothes. He hadn't paid that much mind to the labels. 

And Eddie. Eddie was some kind of math freak. Calculating and assessing risk. He'd risen quickly in the field and made good money now. Richie wasn't entirely sure he understood what it was Eddie did, but that didn't stop him from making fun of Eddie as obnoxiously as possible. 

Before they had decided what to order, Richie had already asked the waitress to bring them a tray of shots. He was good at shots; they were good to him. And in his fragile state, he dumbly decided to do them without his hands. Dropping his head down towards the table and opening his mouth over the small shot glass before throwing his head back. The burn of the alcohol down his throat felt amazing compared to what he was feeling emotionally. 

Richie sneaked a look at Eddie as he spoke to the others, taking in that he still had the dimple in his cheeks and how his eyes creased the same way as he remembered they did. Richie was becoming obsessed with just looking at him. 

Time to poke-

"So wait, Eddie, you got married?" Richie asked after the shot glass lodged in his mouth fell onto his plate. Richie had noticed the gold band on Eddie's finger right away, trying to push down the hurt in his chest. But it was so in his face that he just had to make a joke about it. 

"Yeah, why's that so funny, dickwad?" Eddie said, narrowing his eyebrows and leaning his entire body into Richie's space. 

"What to like a woman?" Richie tried to relax his face, but he knew that it had to show that every word coming out of his mouth felt like barbed wire. 

"Fuck you, bro," Eddie said, narrowing his eyes as if he was trying to figure out a fitting punishment. 

Richie laughed, "Fuck you!" he screamed back. His volume was way up, but it was always like this when he got nervous. The blood started pumping, and he lost all volume control. But for the first time in a long time, no-one seemed to mind. 

Every time his eyes wandered over to Eddie, he felt his chest constrict and his breath catch. It had quickly become apparent that no one remembered much about _that summer_. Things were still flowing back as they were talking, filling in sentences for each other. 

His heart still skipped a beat every time Eddie smiled, and he was holding his own hand under the table to stop himself from reaching out for Eddie's hand and giving it a long overdue squeeze. 

They continued to talk, Richie spending most of his time just _begging_ for Eddie's attention every second of their meal. He continued to give Ben grief, bringing attention to Ben's weight loss, his looks. He knew it was a shit move, but he couldn't stop his mouth from moving. He felt like he was about to burst from the seams, rip open and reveal it all. He couldn't stop himself from it seeping through. 

"Leave him alone. You're embarrassing him," Beverly said, smiling at Ben as she said it. 

"Okay, okay. Alright, please, come on… Is Stanley coming or what?" Ben then said, desperate to change the subject. "Someone save me…"

It made them all go quiet, the ticking of everyone's brains almost audible as they tried to remember. 

"Stan… "Richie said, hearing Eddie echo him. They all turned to the empty chair as if the answer would be sitting there. 

"Uris... Urine!" Richie said, pointing over to Mike. "No, no. He's a fucking pussy. He's not going to show." Richie laughed, the shape of a friend taking form in his head. Stan Uris, neurotic and fiddly. Richie's oldest friend. The space of the empty chair suddenly feeling larger, Stan should be there with them. 

Richie got drunk pretty quickly, losing count of the shots he did and the beer he continued to order in. He glanced at Ben as he and Beverly shared a Heineken. Richie wondered if he could share something with Eddie or if that would be weird. 

Eddie was sitting just to the side of him; nothing was stopping Richie from leaning into Eddie's side and sharing the warmth coming from his skin - but before he could think on that too hard, he leaned into Beverly on his other side and asked for a kiss. 

Beverly laughed and leaned forward into him before poking him with her chopsticks and making everyone laugh.

Richie laughed, trying to ignore how easy it would be to do the same to his other side. 

After a while, he was surprised to find Eddie's hand on his arm, reaching for his hand. The touch made Richie choke on his exhale, and he coughed. 

"Eds-"

Eddie pulled Richie's hand up on the table and motioned that they were now going to arm wrestle. Richie decided that drunk Eddie was amazing, they hadn't met before, but Richie would happily meet him again. 

"Let's take our shirts off and kiss!" Eddie screamed, smiling at Richie as the rest of the Losers laughed. Richie didn't know what to do; his mouth fell open as the bones in his arms started to feel like they were made of jelly. He quickly turned his hand over towards the table, tapping Eddie's hand to the table cloth and declaring himself the winner. His mouth was dry. He wanted to lean forward and close the space between them so badly. The feeling made him clench his jaw so hard that he was scared he's crack a molar. The room felt cramped, and he could feel everyone's eyes on him as he kept holding Eddie's hand to the table. The static in his ears started to move over into his own steady heartbeat. 

"You can't win, Eddie," Richie said, forcing a smile and letting go of Eddie's hand. "I'm just that good."

—

After that, all hell broke loose. Mike had come clean about the clown, and they had all started to panic. Then the fortune cookies gave them a message - _Guess Stan could not cut it._

There had been more happening, everyone freaking out in their own ways as the food came to life and the aquariums had filled with heads. 

He could vaguely remember screaming Eddies' name as it all went down, seeing Eddie curl into himself in fear. Richie had been on the other side of the room, watching Ben fold his arms around Eddie in a protective gesture. Richie couldn't help but wish that it was him holding Eddie in his arms. 

"That's what Pennywise fucking does, right?" Eddie said as they hurried out of the restaurant, "He fucks with us, so Stanley's probably fine." 

Richie walked close to Eddie, opening the door to let his pass. 

"Hey, Mike, do you have Stan's number?" Beverly asked, taking his phone out of her pocket. Mike did the same and read out the number. Beverly's hand gripped the phone so tight her knuckles turned white; she pressed in firmly to her ear and took a few steps away from the rest of the losers. "Hello, Mrs. Uris,"

Richie looked up at Bev; it wasn't Stan on the other end. His insides grew cold. 

"My name's Beverly Marsh, I apologize for calling, but I'm an old friend of your husband's." Beverly continued. 

Richie looked at Mike, feeling like he needed someone to blame for what was happening. He was ready to start a shouting match when he heard Ben utter a low "Guys…" defusing the moment. 

"When did it happen?" Beverly asked, her tone starting to go a bit wet like she was holding back tears. 

"Shit…" Richie whispering, turning to Eddie. 

_Eddie is the one who dies,_ was what the voice had told him. What if the voice had been wrong?

"… In the bathtub." Beverly said, her eyes glazing over a bit. "We're all very sorry, Patty."

The call was ended. Beverly just stood for a moment, looking down at her dimming phone screen. There was a long silence before she spoke again. 

"There have been an… Accident," She said. "Stan's not going to make it." 

Eddie started to pace, his hands moving independently from his body as he was continuing freaking out. "Pennywise _knew_. He knew before we did!" 

"We have to stop them!" Mike said, taking out his book of crazy again. "I have a plan!"

Richie rolled his eyes, "I got a plan," Richie said, raising his hand as if it was his turn to speak. He searched his mind for a plan that would make sense and heard Sandy's words echo in his mind. "Getting the fucking out of dodge!"

He could feel how Eddie was closing in on him, feeling the warmth from his body as he placed himself close to Richie's side. 

"Before this ends worse than one of Bill's books," Richie scoffed, nudging Eddie a bit as he heard Bill let out a small _hey_ from their circle of Losers. "Who's with me?"

Eddie's hand shot up almost immediately, making Richie's ears go warm. 

"We made a promise to each other…" Mike pleaded as Richie turned and started to walk towards his rental. 

"Well, let's unmake that promise. Fuck." Richie continued. 

"Richie, other people are going to die," Ben said. That made Richie stop. 

_Eddie is the one who dies._

"Other people die every day, and I don't owe this town shit," Richie said, moving again. "Fuck this,"

—

Against his better judgment, Richie drove to the townhouse instead of the airport. He'd followed Eddie's car blindly, and when they had parked, Richie was confused as to why there was no airport in front of him. 

"Where are we?" He'd asked, folding himself out of his rental. "You know, Eds, when I said get out of dodge-"

"I have to get my shit, idiot," Eddie said, pushing Richie lightly in the arm as he stormed past. 

Richie nodded to himself, following closely behind Eddie. His hands were in his pockets as he did not trust himself to not reach out. 

The townhouse was creaky and drafty, not a person in sight. Richie let out a long whistle as they walked over the threshold. "Really outdid yourself with this one, Eds - I can really _feel_ the five-star rating of this place." 

Eddie just glared at him and continued toward the stair. Richie wondered if it would be weird if he followed Eddie to his room. He should probably wait in the hall, should probably not walk up to Eddie's room. That would be weird. 

Right?

"Bev-"

Richie jumped, startled by the sudden movement from behind him. Beverly stormed past him and into the room to his left. Ben was following along, just like he was with Eddie. He let out a snort. 

"Beverly, talk to me-"Ben said, his hand gingerly resting on Beverly's shoulder as she breathed heavily. Richie was just watching them, not sure if they had noticed he was there. She walked behind the bar, pouring herself a glass before downing it in a rush. It felt inspired. 

"Stop," Beverly said.

"You knew how Stanley died," Ben said, taking a firmer hold of her shoulders. She froze a little, her face going still. Ben quickly let go, his arms falling helplessly down his sides. "You knew."

He felt like he'd missed part of the conversation, but he was drawn in. Maybe Bev heard the voice too…

"Wait, what?" Richie said wight as Beverly stormed past him again. She frantically started to ring the bell at the check-in counter - despite none of them having seen another human in this, obviously, haunted house. He wanted to claw and dig until he got answers because heaven help him the voice did not give him fucking anything. 

"I can't do this," She said. 

Richie took a couple of long steps to the counter. He felt like he was about to fall over by the adrenaline that started to course through his veins. He had to grip the roughed-up counter with both of his hands to steady himself, "You knew how Stanley was going to die, is that what you said?"

His ears were ringing. Maybe this was another clue. Maybe Bev knew how Eddie died, and Richie could stop it. Perhaps she could tell him what he should do. She heard the voice too. 

"You can't walk away from this," Ben said, leaning on the counter next to Richie. They were crowding here, towering over her. Richie tried to hunch down a bit, feeling like he was taking up too much space. "How did you know where he killed himself?"

Beverly shut her eyes and took a deep, rattling breath. "Because I saw it. I've seen us all die."

_Well, shit._

Then they heard the heavy thumps of something heavy being dragged down the stairs. 

"I just have to grab my…" Eddie stopped, looking at the three of them standing close together by the check-in. "What did I miss?"

—

Richie was still clinging on to the counted minutes later, his legs had absorbed the fragile bones that resided in him, and he was now just a playdough man trying to pass as a human. 

"What do you mean that you've seen us all die?" Eddie asked, pacing a hole in the floor. His hand made quick motions in front of him, emphasizing each work and making it clear that he needed answers, and he needed them now. 

He really did work in a big fancy office, huh…

"Yeah, gotta be honest. That's a fucked up thing to just drop on somebody!" Richie said, thinking back to his dreams. He should have said that to the voice, instead of yelling at an already freaked-out Beverly. 

Beverly sobbed, "Every night since Derry, I've been having the nightmares - people in pain, people dying."

Richie swallowed. His grievances with his sown dreams didn't quite seem so bad anymore. 

"I have nightmares. People have nightmares," Eddie said like he was trying to correct her. It was tone-deaf and mean, and it made Richie want to reach out and place his hand over Eddie's mouth to shut him up for a second. Let him think before speaking. "But that doesn't mean that your visions are true."

"I've watched every single one of us -"She throws a glance at Eddie, making Richie quickly step between them like a barrier. 

_No, no!_ He thought, _not this one! This one does not die. I'm gonna make sure of it._

His stand was wide, arms reached back to grab for Eddie in a protective motion. He didn't like to use his size, but that didn't mean he wasn't aware that he could. The tips of his fingers graced over Eddie's stomach, making Richie's breath catch slightly as he relaxed his body. They were all watching him, eyes wide. Eddie furrowed his brows and pushed Richie to the side, annoyed. 

"What the fuck, Rich."

The air felt hot in his lungs and against his skin like it was pollen season, and he was suddenly allergic to pollen. 

"Sorry, but - how come the rest of us aren't seeing that shit? I mean, what makes her so different?" Richie asked. He really wanted to ask why he was so different? Why did the voice only speak to him? Beverly set her eyes on Richie, really looking him over - like she was noticing something that shouldn't be there. 

"The deadlights."

They all turned to the entrance, Mike standing there with Bill. Bill looked like he'd been through a washing machine set on a high tumbling cycle, eyes on focused and red, his hair standing up in all directions. It made Richie do a double-take. 

"Uh," Eddie placed his hand on Richie's arm. It was an automatic movement. To steady himself. But Richie still leaned into the touch like it was the first thing he'd ever felt. "Deadlight?"

"She was caught in it, changed," Mike started. He was acting strange, manic. His eyes not focusing on the correct thing as he spoke. He was moving around the room like a man on a mission. "We were all touched by it. Changed. Deep down like an infection. Or a virus. A virus." Mike turned to Eddie, getting close and all up in his face, "You understand," He said with a pleading smile. 

"Okay, okay." Eddie raised his hands and rushed to the other side of the room, leaving Richie feeling cold and alone. 

"It's been slowly growing. That virus has been growing for 27 years. This whole time, metastasizing." He was smiling now, like the words coming out of his mouth had been building and forming for decades. "It just got to Stan first because… "

There was anger in Richie's chest all of a sudden. Memories of Stanley Uris dancing in his mind like a taunt. He knew he shouldn't be angry; he couldn't be. Richie would be the last to admit that he'd ever been in Stanley's place, but he knew that place well, and he was pretty sure he'd always know it. The gripping darkness of just vast hopelessness that took hold of you like a noose. 

"He was the weakest," Richie said, meaning himself and not Stanley. He was starting to put the pieces together now. He was the weakest. Stan had the guts he lacked. That's why the voice was speaking to him. He wasn't special. Just desperate to be it. 

"Jesus Christ, Rich," Bill sounded disgusted, maddened. 

"Just saying," Richie said, desperately wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. 

"I mean, Rich come on," Eddie said, looking at him with those sad, sad eyes. 

He didn't know what to say after that. He just shrugged, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and hunching over to gloom. They didn't get it. Stan would get it. 

"What Beverly sees, it will come to pass," Mike was still wandering around the room, acting like this was his TED talk, his moment in the spotlight. "It's what will happen to all of us, eventually. Unless we stop it."

Eddie inhaled sharply, sounding like a busted pipe. "How the hell are we supposed to do that?"

"The ritual of Chud. The Shokopiwah." Mike said, smiling now. Eyes glittering. "The first ones who fought it, they have a saying - All living things must abide by the laws of the shape they inhabit."

Richie waited for anyone to say anything, he'd already shoved his foot in his mouth, and he really wanted someone else to speak first. But he couldn't stay quiet for too long. The strain was starting to hurt his throat. 

"Are you fucking kidding me, man?" Richie almost laughed; if there was a ritual, why hadn't anyone performed it? Why make it and then just let the clown go on? "All right, there's gotta be another way. Okay? This thing comes back, what, every 27 years?" Richie gestured wildly, hoping to have some kind of winning argument jump out in his jumble of words. "Let's kick the can down the road and do it then. "

Eddie closed his eyes, looking like he was in pain. The hand came up again, directed towards Richie. "When we're 70 years old, asshole?"

Richie felt his mouth fall open, his knees buckling a bit. _70?!_ Quick math made him feel like his soul was leaving his body. Was he as close to 70 as he was to 13? That felt criminal, that felt horrible. 

Someone sobbed, followed by the sound of a lighter and a flame shooting up. 

"It doesn't work that way. None of us make it another 20 years," Beverly said. She had a lit cigarette between her fingers now, staring out into nothing. She looked like marble, with trails f tears decorating her cheeks. 

Ben had been hovering around Beverly this whole time. Richie knew the signs well. He looked like he wanted to reach out, to comfort, to hold. But was unsure of how or if it was allowed. If it would be wanted. Desired. 

"So, if we don't beat It this cycle, then-"Ben started his hand just out of reach from Beverly. It fell to his side again as Bill took more space, placing himself in the middle of the group and straightening his back. 

"We die," He said.

"Horribly," Eddie added. 

They were quiet for a moment; the lack of any kind of sound except for ambiance made Richie's skin itch. He'd been fidgeting with the inside seam of his pocket, a small hole forming. That would annoy him later. Now he just needed something to do with his hands. 

He wanted to do so much. He wanted to ask Eddie why he never called back - ask if the voice was right and that the going away made him that way. He wanted to ask about the voice. He wanted to ask Beverly what she'd seen. He wanted to stop it, all of it. 

"So, what do we do?" Ben asked, breaking the silence. "What's the plan?"

"We have to remember," Mike said, voice firm and his eyes finally focusing. 

There was a shock moving down Richie's spine, cold sweat starting to form on his neck. _Time to remember, don't forget._ Shit. 

He cleared his throat, leaning forward to stand a bit taller, then looked at Mike like he was pleading for a crumb of an answer, "Remember what?"

Mike smiled again, this time brighter and calmer. He was starting to look like the Mike Richie remembered. 

"It's better if I show you, we don't have much time. "Mike said. Richie hung on to every word. "His cycle will end soon. And once it does-"

Eddie piped up, crossing his arms over his chest, "We're fucked."


	4. a reputation of being alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"These are the words of him who holds the seven spirits of God and the seven stars,"_  
>  \-- Revelations 3:1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info,
> 
> 5564 words, estimated reading time: 20 minutes.

Richie had checked out somewhere between Mike saying goodbye and everyone retreating to their rooms. He'd stood in the lobby for what felt like hours, all alone, when he finally reached over the check-in counter and pulled a key off the wall, making his way up the stairs to a room. 

The whole Inn was lonely, and he wasn't sure how the others had managed to make reservations. It didn't look like anyone worked there. It was strange, and it made Richie nervous. The whole town felt like a tourist attraction, a place where everyone played their given roles at given times. 

He tried to keep quiet, keeping his step as light as he possibly could and unlocking his door with an unsure and shaky hand. His mind was hazy, filled with fog and slow. A good night's sleep would help, but he had a feeling that wouldn't happen. 

The room was small, the floors scuffed, and the walls were nicotine stained. It transported Richie right back to the 80s, with outdated furniture and easy art on the walls; the feeling was soothing in a way Richie hadn't felt in a long time. Home wasn't all bad. He did have good memories from Derry - but the bad seemed to pile up and made the good ones hard to see. 

He walked over to the bed and sat down, letting out a long sigh as he did. The mattress was lumpy, the bedding thin. The pillows looked like they would gather around his head more the under it. He didn't even try laying down; he'd sleep better in an armchair or on the floor. It was a disappointment, but he wasn't surprised. Things were getting more clear now. It didn't feel like a response without cause; he felt like he had choice again. He knew why Mike had called; he knew what it all meant. He knew why he was scared. He knew why he'd forgotten and why he was remembering. It all came back to the clown. 

Richie knew what would come, in sparse detail, and soon he'd know how to stop it from happening. He just needed to figure out what he was supposed to do.

Maybe he could sit at the bar for a bit, calm his nerves the old-fashioned way. 

He sighed again, dragging his hands over his face to try and remove some of the tiredness. Got to his feet and went out the door, locking it behind himself out of habit. 

"Rich?" 

Richie closed his eyes. He wanted to be alone. He really did. But that voice would always call to him like the songs of sirens. It was like a call of home, the bell out on the porch on a ranch. Calling him home for dinner. 

"Hi, Eds," Richie turned towards Eddie and placing his hands in his pockets. He looked down, kicking the wooden flooring slowly. The corridor was open, a wide-open space that flowed down the stairs to Richie's left. 

The open space made him feel exposed, his fight or flight response looking for the quickest way out. 

He was closer to the stairs than Eddie was. He could throw himself down the staircase and then make his way out. He'd never had any stunt training, but he had fallen off stage a few times in his late 20s. Maybe that had prepared his body enough for a fall. 

"It's almost 3 am," Eddie said, a light laugh hidden behind his words. "Why are you up?" 

Richie bit the inside of his cheek, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to ground him and think about his words before he spoke. 

"Why are you?" 

Eddie gave him a small smile, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "I asked first."

Richie had to look away again. Looking at Eddie brought back so many emotions that he didn't have space to carry anymore. 

Eddie didn't seem to remember who they were or what they had been back then. So, Richie would not be bringing it up. He would lean into the ache and push it all down. 

But, that didn't stop Richie from feeling enormous fondness for Eddie. It was like a twine tied around his finger, making it impossible for him to ignore it. Screaming at him to remember, remember, remember. 

"I couldn't sleep," Richie finally said. He tried to look at Eddie again but couldn't get himself to keep his eyes steady.

Richie had to admit that the words of the voice came to him now like gospel. 

Because of that, he wanted to stay on task. Needed to remember the hurt for what it was and not for what it felt like. He needed to place the fondness for what it was as well, old and misplaced. 

_And something that never seemed to go away._

"Me neither," Eddie said, leaning against the wall. Richie finally gave him a good look. He was dressed in a threadbare t-shirt and sweats with the waist rolled - either because the legs were too long or the elastic giving out. He looked cozy, relaxed. 

Richie smirked, "Can't sleep alone, Eds? Missing the wife?" Richie teased. He swallowed down the lump that formed in his throat as his tongue tasted the words. 

Eddie snorted, rolling his eyes big enough so that Richie noticed in the dark. He shook his head, "No, actually… uh," He trailed off, letting a sigh out as he closed his eyes for a second. "We're separated, actually. For about a year now." 

Richie said nothing. He could feel his stomach swoop and turn over with a heavy feeling. 

"Oh," Richie said after a silence that was way too long. 

"Yeah, Myra- Uh, she thinks it's temporary, but I don't know." Eddie sighed. "I think we're done for real." 

Richie felt his mouth go dry. He nodded, biting down. There were things he wanted to ask, but he didn't know how to say it right. 

He wanted to ask why it ended. _What was the last straw, Eds?_

I can do better, Eds. I promise you. _Give me a second chance._

Or _first_ , if you never remember us. 

No, that's dumb. Stupid, even. He needed to let it go. Why was it so hard to let it go? 

He should be able to drop it, move on. He hadn't remembered it for 20 years, why couldn't he forget it for 20 more? 

"Oh, Sorry," Was what fell out instead. "Sorry for teasing you at dinner. I don't know why I did that," Richie continued. His eyes darted to Eddie's hands over his chest. He was still wearing the ring. 

That means something. Richie didn't know what, but it meant something.

"You don't?" Eddie asked, letting out a scoff. 

"It's just, I saw you, and you still felt like that 4" kid with the broken arm, I guess… "Richie finished. 

Eddie furrowed his brow, giving Richie a questioning look, "The last time we saw each other was before college. Why is your mind's version of me 12 years old?" 

"I know, I- uh, I guess that age really just stuck with me." Richie tried. "I mean, I couldn't believe you were-" 

"Married, to like, a _woman_?" Eddie said. Richie was expecting him to be mad, but he was smiling. Teasing. His words were soft, falling comfortably in Richie's ears. 

"Yeah… Sorry," Richie said, laughing shakily. The tension in his body was telling him to run now, choosing flight over fight. 

Twenty years later, and Richie was still head over heels in love with Eddie Kaspbrak - and Eddie didn't remember any of it. 

The memory had been stolen, and the experience had been stolen. _They_ had been stolen. 

They could have had years together. 

The longer Richie spent looking at Eddie, the easier it was for him to remember all of it. He could remember the feeling of Eddie's hands on him, the shape of his mouth. Richie could remember how Eddie's skin felt under his fingers, how the both of them fit together like pieces of a puzzle. He remembered how Eddie used to smell and probably still did under whatever aftershave he was wearing now. 

And he could remember the taste of Eddie's lips and the feeling of Eddie's laughter against his mouth. 

He remembered the words he had tried to say over the phone but never got the chance to pass his lips. 

Even if Richie could feel all of it, like a blister about to burst, Eddie did not. 

"It's fine," Eddie said, laughing lightly again. "You were always an asshole - why would 20 years have changed that?" 

Richie felt his mouth fall open slightly. 

"Right - Sorry for that too, I was a dick, wasn't I?" Richie said, shrugging. He didn't know what to do with himself. He felt like he was taking up too much space all of a sudden, like he was in the way.

"Don't be sorry; I was an asshole too," Eddie said. "And I'm the one who should be sorry, I never called you-" 

"Stop," Richie said, sounding like a plead. "Mike already explained all that. It's not your fault. I forgot you too." 

There was silence between them, Eddie looking too closely at Richie. He looked like he was trying to solve a problem, brows pushed together, and his mouth held in a small smirk. 

"I still - sorry, it's all a bit fuzzy in my head still, but I feel like I should apologize to you," Eddie said, still looking at Richie with those big, brown eyes that Richie never seemed to have been able to to to forget. 

He knew he'd seen those eyes many times during the years they'd spend apart. Not even magic could erase that from Richie's brain. 

"You have nothing to apologize for, Eds," Richie said, trying to let go of the pain behind it. The feeling was raw because of his dreams. If he just had some time to process it all, he could get past it. He was sure of it. "You never have to apologize to me." 

"Why not?" Eddie asked. 

Richie smiled, feeling how his face failed to match his words, "You just never need to. I will always forgive you." 

Eddie furrowed his brow again, his arms tightening a bit over his chest, "People should still apologize, Richie. Even if they already know you'd forgive them." 

The darkness of the corridor and the emptiness of it crept up on Richie like a weighted blanket. The space between them had become smaller. If Richie reached out, he'd be able to touch Eddie now. 

He knew not to reach. 

"Do you wonder how your life would look if you had remembered?" 

"Sorry?" Richie asked, panic dripping from him. 

"If you could have remembered Derry, "Eddie said. "I feel like I would have been someone else if I remembered." 

Richie laughed, scratching his cheek to release some anxiety. "Like what?" 

"Like how Ma was lying to me about me being sick," Eddie said. He sounded tired. "She died before I figured it out," Eddie continued. "The second time, I mean." 

"Well, you figured it out-" 

"You know, I never actually left her." 

Richie raised his eyebrows in confusion, not sure what Eddie meant. "What do you mean? You left; I remember you leaving." _Very vividly,_ Richie thought. 

"Yeah, I got out, went to college," Eddie closed his eyes and pressed out a long breath between his teeth. "She followed me three weeks later. I lived with her after that, like I had never left in the first place." 

The thought didn't sit easily in Richie's mind. 

"Many people live with their parents through college, Eds." Richie tried. He knew that wasn't the point Eddie was trying to make, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. 

Eddie laughed at that. The corners of his mouth lifting a little. 

"I tried to leave two more times after that, went back both times." Eddie fumbled with the hem of his t-shirt, rubbing the seam between his fingers. "I just think I'd done it differently if I had remembered the placebos-" 

"Ah, yes. The gazebos…" 

"Shut the fuck up," Eddie said, but he was laughing. "If I had remembered the medicine. And how to be brave. If I had remembered you-" 

Richie's breath caught, his body moving a bit closer to Eddie out of reflex, "Yeah?" Me?" 

"I didn't have you or any of the losers. I think I'd done it all different if I'd had you." 

Pause. Pull back. 

"You got out in the end, Eds," Richie said. 

That made Eddie shake his head. He was staring down onto the floor, kicking the fraying rug that ran down the center of the corridor. He looked small like that, sheltered. 

"Not really," Eddie said, sighing." She died. There was nothing for me to go back to, and I met Myra 8 weeks after the funeral. We were married within six months." He laughed again, sounding manic now. "I didn't remember having friends; I didn't make any new ones at college or grad school. I was terrified of being alone." 

"I think all of us got stuck after we forgot," Richie said, thinking back to the bruises he'd seen of Beverly's wrists at dinner. About how they were all back in town except Stanley.

As sad as it sounded, that summer when they were 13 shaped who they were as people. Without that, they were broken toys hurdled from yard sale to yard sale. 

Maybe that was the point of it all. The Losers had been the strongest together, so the clown had separated them. Left them to fend for themselves. 

"I think that's what It does, leave us miserable. Marinate us in it until we…" Richie trailed off, thinking about Stan again. "I think that's what It wants." 

A strong wind blew past the building, making the walls creak and a cold draft fill the corridor. The cold went straight to Richie's bones, causing a chill to flow up his back. 

Eddie was looking at him again like he was a book, and it was time to turn the page. 

"You never said how you were doing," Eddie said. "You joked about my mother, but you didn't actually say how you were… Are you seeing someone?" 

The question hung in the air for a moment, making Richie's vision vignette. He didn't want to bring up Sandy and explain that whole deal. He wasn't sure there was a deal to talk about it anyway.

"Not at the moment," Richie said, "Works keeps me kind of busy, and most people like it when you're around. Or like, when you're sober." 

"I can understand that," Eddie nodded. 

There was another pause between them. Eddie was still leaning toward the wall close to Richie, and he wanted to reach out so bad. He wanted to feel Eddie's cheekbones under his fingers. He wanted to hold on to Eddie hard, never let go. Not this time. 

Eddie suddenly twisted towards him and looked concerned; Richie guessed his thoughts had shown on his face. 

"Are you okay, Rich?" he asked, leaning away from the wall and taking a step towards Richie. He was reaching out, his hand moving towards Richie's shoulder. It was a gesture of comfort, but it made Richie pull away with a startle. 

"I'm fine, I promise." Richie took a deep breath. "I think I just need to be alone for a bit." 

_Unless you want to come?_ Richie thought, giving Eddie a glace to say that he wouldn't mind it if _Eddie_ followed him. He wouldn't mind it at all if Eddie never left his side ever again. He could live with the pain of knowing if Eddie would just stay close to him forever. 

But Eddie simply nodded and turned back to his room. He leaned his forehead against the door with a light thump. 

"See you tomorrow?" 

"Yeah, Eds," Richie said, feeling sad again. "See you tomorrow. 

— 

After the talk with Eddie in the hallway, Richie had retreated to his room. He had laid down on the bed, closed his eyes, and fallen asleep fairly quickly. 

Because when he opened his eyes again, he was back in the white room. 

He's gotten used to the white snow, so as soon as he had opened his eyes - he stood up. He took a few steps forward, seeing how a concrete landscape grew out in front and around him. 

It wasn't Derry. It was a city more than a town, a much larger city. He looked over the buildings a bit closer, confused. Chicago? 

"Why am I in Chicago?" he said straight out into the open air, not directing his voice anywhere in particular. "I remember Chicago. It's Derry I'm having trouble with." 

He got no answer, but he didn't need one. Just as the last words were out in the open, Richie could see a skinny version of himself walking in a rush with his head down. He was looking behind himself ever so often, looking stressed or scared. 

Richie saw himself stop by the bar entrance, giving his surrounding another once over before he went inside. Richie knew what this was, but he didn't want to drag attention to it just yet. The voice wanted him to see something, so he would just go along with it now. The situation was starting to give him Stockholm syndrome. 

The voice still didn't say anything, so Richie lifted his foot to walk to where he'd seen his younger self enter - but with his first step, he was already inside the bar. 

There was suddenly a lot of dark wood around him, music playing loudly around him. The smell of menthols in the air, along with the heavy stink of being allowed to smoke indoors. There weren't a lot of people there, but there was still a crowd. And it was enough people for Richie to note that they were all men. 

That didn't surprise him though, Richie remembered this place. He remembers why he had gone there and why he'd continued to go for years. He only stopped when the size of his name overtook his trust in others. 

Richie looked at himself again; he was maybe 24 years old - 25 years max. He had still not grown into himself, and he was low on cash for at least a while longer, so his clothes were still worn and torn. 

When Richie was younger, he had never done well with being lonely. Being alone was fine, but he just couldn't do lonely. 

"Hey, hi, can I get a beer, please?" young Richie said to the bartender, a man in his 40s. He gave young Richie a look, followed by a sweet smile. It was with kindness from someone who could relate. 

"Can I see an ID?" The bartender asked, pulling up a beer on the counter but stopping shy of popping the cap. 

Young Richie nodded, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet and pacing his drivers' license on the bartop. The bartender smiled again and opened the beer before pushing it over to young Richie. 

"First time out, kid?" the man asked. 

Young Richie looked around, the panic In his eyes, "Oh, I'm not - I-" 

"It's okay, kid, you don't have to worry about all that here," the bartender said, "We're very discreet. This is a safe place for people like us." 

He nodded, "Yeah, first time out," he said, taking a swig of his beer. "Sorry." 

"Nothing to be sorry about, have a good time and try to relax. The world outside these doors can be unkind, but we leave that shit out there." The man said, "You understand?" 

Young Richie nodded again, smiling a bit. The man was not what young Richie had expected from a place like this; he was stockier, his head shaved, and his arms heavily tattooed. Everyone in there was different; no one fitted the mold Richie so desperately tried to get away from. It made him feel like maybe there wasn't a mold to begin with. Maybe people wouldn't look at him and just know. 

Richie watched the crows for a bit, looking for someone who would fit what young Richie would be looking for. His taste had changed very little thought his life. Almost everyone he'd seen, dated, or hooked up with had been the same person in some shape or form. 

A man was sitting alone at a corner table with a beer cradled in his hand that fit the bill pretty perfectly; dark hair, dark eyes, compact-

Wait. 

Richie looked at the man a bit closer, with frustration and desperation. He looked like someone had tried to explain Eddie to a sculptor, getting the fundamental gist right, but the details were wrong. 

The realization made Richie want to crawl out of his own skin and set it on fire. Even when he didn't know and couldn't remember, he had been drawn to Eddie. The blueprint. 

Like on cue, Young Richie stepped forward to the man in the corner, gesturing towards the chair. 

"Is the seat taken?" He asked, the man already sitting down looking confused. "The chair next to you, or would you mind if I sat down?"

"It's fine," he said, reaching out his hand. "I'm Matty." 

"Richie," young Richie said, taking Matty's hadn't and giving it a confident and overcompensating shake. "Nice to meet you. Do you come here often?"

_Right fucking to it, Rich…_ Richie thought with a smile. 

"Oh, I'm... No. Not really." Matty said. He was picking at the label of his beer, ripping off the corner and letting them fall to the floor. "You?"

"No," young Richie said. He couldn't take his eyes off the man next to him, his eyes traveling over his face and then continuing down his body. It didn't take long before young Richie leaned into the table, trying to get closer and mirroring Matty's movement. 

They talked for a bit, and Richie kept a close eye on them. He didn't remember this as it happened like the last memories he'd been thrown into. This was already there, but it was fuzzy like an old memory. He remembered it in chunks. 

He remembers the bar. He remembers the man.

"Do you want together out of here?" Young Richie said after about 30 minutes of talking. Matty's eyes went wide, but he was quickly on his feet. 

"Yeah, okay," Matty said. Young Richie chugged the last bit of warm, flat beer before getting to his feet as well. They walked to the exit, close enough for their elbows to touch. 

Richie saw the men walk out through the door and took a step forward to follow them, but instead, he was back in the bar. There was a new bartender behind the bar, so Richie assumed it was the same place - a different time. 

The place was more crowded today, the music louder. The bar was filled with people, and Richie soon found himself in the crowd. His hair was long now, reaching his shoulders, so he was pretty sure he was in his late 20s here. His career had just started to pick up after years of working his ass off for good spots, his first tour would be next year, and in 2 years, he'd make it big. 

His younger self was already talking to another man. He was maybe 5'8 with dark eyes and hair. He had an angry aura like he was pissed off at the universe for making him sentient. Something that Richie found to be an essential part of a perfect man. 

"-no I, yeah. I do stand up," young Richie said, leaning forward into the man's space. He didn't seem to mind as he leaned in closer too. 

Richie looked up again, "I get it. I was caught up on Eddie. It's not my fault. My memories were stolen from me!" He yelled into the board-ceiling of the bar. "Fuck me for wanting some company."

"That's not what this is," The voice finally said back. Richie scrunched up his entire face in irritation. 

"What is _this_ , then?" Richie asked, still looking straight up into the ceiling. He had given up trying to find where the voice was coming from cause it was everywhere. Up felt the most natural in this situation. Like he was talking to some god that was torturing him from their throne in the sky. 

"Just time passing," 

"I really hate talking to you, I mean - we haven't known each other long, mysterious voice, but fuck, I really hate you," Richie said. He carelessly let his feet move, and the scene around him changed again, the setting getting a bit darker and the mood getting somber. 

It took some time for Richie to find himself, and when he did, he was taken aback. He was sporting a guardless buzzcut. His glasses were gone. It took him a few beats before he could place this look cause Richie had been pretty consistent in the way he looked. 

He had been in a movie when he was 32, playing a moron in a military comedy. He'd shaved his head for it and hated how it looked. He stopped wearing his glasses as his hair grew out, as the magnified eyes and the shaved head really made him feel like an egg with eyes. Richie remembered he had been relieved to find out that he at least had a pretty uniform head, no weird lumps insight. 

The movie did somewhat well for itself. It was propaganda and not something Richie really looked back on with pride. But it had opened some doors for him, which his tasteless comedy hadn't. 

"We've known each other a long time, Richie. You just forgot." The voice said, snapping Richie out of his train of thought. 

"Yeah, you said that," Richie mumbled. He was watching himself standing by the wall, leaning back in a worn and torn jeans jacket and jeans, denim on denim. It had to be at least close to 2010, and he was still stuck in the 90s. 

Young Richie was watching the floor. He had his hands in his pockets. His jaw was tensing and releasing as he was biting down what Richie guess was anxiety and stress. 

"Can't you just tell me what I'm supposed to look for? Tell me what you need me to learn, and I'll do it." Richie plead. "I want to choose right. I need Eddie to- I need to make the right choice." 

He swallowed roughly. The words from his last dream, _that Eddie was always going to die,_ played in his head at full volume since the voice had uttered it. He couldn't carry it. The thought was like a knife that was slicing its way up his chest in a slow movement, deep enough to score the bone. 

"I can't seem to find a time you met the same person twice," The voice said. It wasn't accusing, more curious. Richie hated it. 

"Just fucking ask, stop with the riddles. My brain is already mush, dude."

"Right," The voice said, loud for no reason other than to be loud. "What's the longest relationship you've had?" 

Richie stared straight up into the ceiling again, as if he was giving the voice the evil eye. God, he really hates this dude. If it was a dude, he couldn't be sure. He hated whatever it was. 

"Who are you, my mother?" 

"No," the voice said, and Richie was sure he could hear the attitude. 

"I guess around 3 years," Riche shrugged. He kept watching his younger self scan the floor. Still, no one that fit what he was looking for. 

Richie knows he went out a lot, intending to meet someone quick. He rarely met the same person twice. That was just how he had decided to live. His career had kicked off on the base of comedy that was very… straight. He missed his shot at just being out from the beginning, and after building it all on lied, he couldn't find a way out. 

He knew there were rumors. He had paid off some men that wanted to use their time together against him. 

He guessed he didn't date, but he hadn't really thought about it before. 

"What was their name?" 

Richie sighed, "I know you already know. Why are you pushing? Just tell me what the fuck you want me to say." He was getting annoyed. Time was running out, he needed to be guided, and he needed to know what he was supposed to do. 

There was no answer. And the silence made Richie go insane. 

"Fine, okay. Her name was Sandy. She just broke up with me." Richie crossed his arms over his chest like he was about to have a small tantrum. 

"Her name," the voice asked. 

"It wasn't real. It was just to… To make the talk quiet down." Richie said. He tried to not think about the last few years when the whispering had started to get louder, and he had started to be more careful. It was a different time. As his career had taken off and he had made himself a staple in the comedy scene, there was suddenly more to lose. He'd seen colleagues lose jobs and credibility for less, and he couldn't go back to anything. He had no other skills. This was it for him. 

"And beside her?"

"There was a guy," Richie said, watching his younger self hang his head down before he made his way back to the bar. "Somewhere around this time, we saw each other for a while."

"And why did it end?" The voice asked.

Richie couldn't help but feel like he was enjoying torturing him. 

"He stopped taking my calls." His veins filled with ice as he said it, the memory of the call with Eddie now bright in his mind. He hadn't made a connection at the time cause he didn't remember, but the whole thing had hurt him more than it should. He had been seeing this guy for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months, but the ghosting destroyed him. 

"I see."

"So, what do you want me to see?"

"I want you to think about what you were looking for in this place all those years." The voice said, "Because it wasn't for companionship, was it?"

"I don't know what I was looking for. That's why I kept looking."

"Oh."

"Shut the fuck up. This isn't about Eddie." Richie crossed his arms even tighter over his chest. 

"I never said that."

Richie huffed. He wanted to wake up, but as he had leaned from earlier tried, he was in this until the voice said he could leave.

"What do you want me to say, huh?" Richie asked, "Fine, shit, I loved him. But we were kids, and we were stupid." He let out a short little laugh as he rubbed his hand over his face. 

"And we had our memories stolen, so it all went to shit. But that's it - just a couple of teens getting their hearts broken." Richie continued. "Besides, he doesn't even remember it. He doesn't remember us."

"What would you have liked to find?"

Richie closed his eyes and sighed, "Something real, I guess." he said in a small voice, defeated and low. At the time, he didn't know what he was looking for. He had just gone up to the first person that looked interesting and does his thing. He had been 38 when Sandy had joked about how every guy he had ever gone home with looked the same, how most of them acted the same too. He had laughed with her, joked a bit about how he just had a preference. But seeing it now, having all the facts. It was messed up. 

His brain had taken so much damage from his thing with Eddie, and not having had time to deal with it before he forgot must have left him in perpetual heartache and longing. No way for him to move past it cause there was no heartbreak to find. 

Ghost feelings for a ghost memory. 

"Were you alone?"

"Yeah," Richie said, "The years have not been kind, but it's mostly because of my own choices."

"Are you ready to make a choice?" 

"No."

"And why's that?"

_Eddie is the one who dies_.

"Because I can't mess this up," Richie said. "I don't think I can lose him again now that I have him back." 

"It's closing in,"

"Well, it will just have to wait. I need more time."

"Time is running out Richie, you need to choose," The voice said. "Where do you put your belief?"

Richie swallowed, tried to collect his thoughts. He tried to form a red line between where he'd started on this journey, where the voice had taken him. He thought back to the emotions and the hurt. 

He didn't know what the voice wanted to hear. It was a dumb question. Richie never put belief in anything. Nothing felt worth believing in since… 

Then it just came to him, "I put it in Eddie Kaspbrak."

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter @[Radio_Tozier](https://twitter.com/radio_tozier), 
> 
> :)


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